#I love the irritated yet defeated look on the older brother's face whenever he's around the younger lol

[rainboweemart]

Young marine brothers doodles~ ⚓️

the contradiction in personality between these siblings is so endearing!

[calaofnoldor]

Sixth Time’s the Charm [2]

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 2,139

Series Summary: All the times Dean has tried to get Sam to admit his feelings for you.

Chapter Summary: You’re injured and Sam is overprotective. Dean gets caught in the middle.

Warnings: protective moose, badass!reader, exasperated squirrel, mutual pining, idiots in love, slow burn, fluff

A/N: thank you for all the love and support on part 1! here's part 2 of a mini series that is essentially an amalgamation of all the jealous/protective tropes lol

← BACK UP | MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

The second time was an accident, although that did nothing to lessen Sam’s resulting ire. It was the middle of November and the three of you had been hit with one case after another, giving you no time to recover from injuries and keeping everyone rather keyed up.

A stupid misstep during a wendigo chase had left you with a sprained ankle on the last hunt. Sam, being the modern Prince Charming kinda guy that he was, had carried you back to the car while you protested futilely within his solid arms, eventually giving up in favor of hiding your embarrassment in the crook of his neck, though that only made your foolish heart beat faster.

“Sam, I’m fine, seriously. It’s nothing! A bit of ice and I’ll be good to go. You don’t have to do this,” you had nearly begged after he set you down on your motel room bed. His proximity always made you nervous, but when it was just the two of you and he was taking care of you like this? It set your heart racing and left a bittersweet aftertaste in your soul.

“Y/N, would you just let me look at it?” Sam hadn’t meant to sound so snappy, but he was growing tired of you always pushing him away whenever he got too close. He figured you wanted to keep your distance, keep things platonic, and he could never blame you for protecting yourself, especially given his history with women, but he genuinely wanted to help you. Sam needed to make sure you were all right.

His irritable tone had shut you right up, so you simply nodded in consent. ‘Great, now I’m annoying him,’ you thought with a quiet sigh.

Sam tried to send you an apologetic smile, to show that he was simply worried, but you wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘Great, now she hates me,’ he thought with a defeated sigh.

Choosing not to dwell on the lump in his throat, Sam quickly got to work, ever so gently removing your boot and then sock before rolling up your pant leg just enough to get a clear look. His capable hands and eyes meticulously examined your swollen ankle, turning it this way and that as you leaned back on your hands and shifted uncomfortably on your bum.

“Well, you were right, I don’t think it’s broken. Probably just a bad sprain. You should stay off it for a while though,” his magical kaleidoscope eyes peered up at you through thick lashes as rays of setting sunlight pierced through the only small window in the room and bounced off his cheekbones in ways that left you speechless once again.

You gulped, finding it impossible not to hold his gaze. “Right, thanks doc,” you whispered awkwardly after a beat, swiftly removing your leg from his hold, and rolling your pants back down.

And that had been that.

Now here you were a week later, discussing your plan for a possible witch hunt.

“So here’s what I’m thinking,” Dean started, “Sammy can go through the back door, and I’ll go in from the front, while Y/N keeps watch on the outside and-”

“Dude, what the hell?!” Sam’s sudden outburst surprised both you and Dean, as he slammed his laptop shut and raised both hands in question.

“What? What do you mean ‘what the hell’?” Dean shot back, completely perplexed.

“Dean! She has a bad ankle!” Sam’s voice was filled with an unrecognizable anger and his darkened eyes bored fiercely into Dean’s.

“Okayyy, and I put her on lookout duty…” the older Winchester repeated slowly, trying to suss out his brother’s mystical problem.

“Which means she’s gonna have to walk back and forth around the place, and if she sees something, she’s gonna have to run!” Sam accused his brother incredulously, gesturing wildly with his big hands.

Dean couldn’t hold back the dramatic eye roll that accompanied his sigh of disbelief. ‘Here we go again,’ he thought, wishing his baby brother would just man up and tell you how he felt instead of throwing these little tantrums.

Your jaw had been slack as you watched the entire exchange in bewilderment. Feeling a little bad for Dean, however, you decided to finally speak up, adjusting your voice to take on a soothing tone, “Sammy, I’m fine. Honestly, it’s feeling a lot better!” While that wasn’t exactly true, you weren’t sure you could handle another round of his huge yet gentle hands caressing your bare skin. “Besides, it’s not exactly unheard of to be on a job while you’re still a little battered and bruised; that’s just part of the life. I mean, you guys do it all the time!”

Sam turned to look at you for the first time since he’d started speaking, trying to ignore the whirl of butterflies that erupted in his stomach when you used the nickname that had been reserved for Dean only up until you came along (it always sounded so sweet coming out of your mouth, he could never find it in himself to correct you), so he could focus on his train of thought. “Yeah, but we don’t do things that’ll make our injuries worse. Y/N, you need to stay off that foot or it’s not gonna heal properly!”

“Look, Sam, I appreciate the concern. I really do, but I’ll be fine. I’ve had much worse and we need all hands on deck for this case.”

“Well, she ain’t wrong about that. This bitch has been tricky since the start,” Dean chimed in.

Sam flashed his brother a dangerous glare, the muscles in his jaw popping, before he turned back to you, “No. I’m sorry, but I think you’d be more help to us if you just stayed in the car.”

“No?” you questioned him with narrowed eyes. Sure, he was the most gorgeous man you’d ever laid eyes on, but that didn’t mean he could tell you what to do – especially not when it came to hunting, the one thing in which you were fully confident of your abilities.

Dean looked on with an amused smirk, glad he wasn’t the one about to get chewed out anymore.

“Sam, I know you mean well, but you don’t get to make that decision for me. That’s not how this works. I joined you two ‘cause we work well as a team. But that only holds if we all get equal say, if we all respect each other as hunters. I’m telling you that I can do this, and you need trust me.”

Sighing as he rubbed his temples, Sam stayed quiet for a moment while he pondered his response. He knew you were right. You were a total badass and he was painfully aware of it (there were times when a stand-alone part of his body was painfully aware of it as well), but still, he couldn’t resist the urge to protect you. Lately, it was becoming harder.

“I trust you, Y/N/N,” Dean cut in, breaking the silence, and then raising a brow at his brother.

Sam ran a large hand over the lower part of his face, nodding his head without looking at either of you, before rising to his feet and walking out abruptly.

Turning your head to stare after him with furrowed brows, you began uncertainly, “Should I…?” You sent Dean an inquiring glance in lieu of finishing your sentence.

“Nah, I got this. Kid’s probably just cranky after all these hunts. You just stay off that foot for as long as you can, make sure you’re good to go for later.”

You nodded as you watched Dean leave to find Sam. It was only a matter of minutes before you heard their loud voices travelling through the thin walls.

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” You recognized Sam’s low and enraged voice immediately.

“Well maybe if you just told her!”

“Told her what, Dean?!”

That’s when things got quiet again.

After a moment of pause, you shook it off and went back to reviewing your research for the case in silence. As confused and curious as you were, you weren’t about to let your mood distract you from the perils that laid ahead. Like Dean said, this witch was tricky, and you needed to have the brothers’ backs.

It was two in the morning when the three of you finally managed to kill the bitch. The hunt turned out to be a team effort after all, with you saving the boys’ asses at the last minute. Your chest was heaving and your ankle throbbing, but you were satisfied with the job well done.

Sam watched as you slowly hobbled back to the car. He could tell that your limp had worsened, but he kept his mouth shut since he knew there was no way they could have done it without you. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if he and Dean would still be here without you, but seeing you in pain tore at his heart and made him wish things were somehow different, despite the overall positive outcome.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder, interrupting Sam’s thoughts and urging him forward with a tired grunt.

“I don’t know about you kids, but I am beat,” Dean looked over at you and Sam as he cut the engine twenty minutes later, “We good with staying another night and heading back tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that sounds good to me,” you agreed, climbing out the car and retreating to your room after bidding the brothers good night.

“Dude,” Dean’s head rolled heavily to the right when only he and Sam were left in the Impala, “Just go talk to her, will ya? You’re driving me nuts here.” He sent his brother an imploring look, a bit of Winchester telepathy.

There was a light knock on your door moments later. You swiped your gun but lowered it when you saw Sam’s hulking form through the peephole.

“Hey,” you greeted quietly after opening the door, keeping one hand on it to help steady yourself.

“Hey,” he echoed, “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Oh, thanks. I’m fine,” you lied easily, trying not to make it obvious that you were resting all your weight on your good leg.

But of course, Sam was much too shrewd for that, perceptive gaze flickering down to your feet right away, “Can I look at your ankle please?” the words rushed out of his mouth, and he was quick to add more before you had a chance to protest, “I swear, I’m not here to tell you off; I just want to help you. Please.”

It always amazed you how Sam could go from towering, ferocious hunter to bashful, adorable, man-boy so seamlessly. He was really stinking cute when he begged, and you could never say no to those puppy dog eyes, “Yeah, OK,” you muttered while backing up to let him all the way in, too exhausted to offer any form of resistance anyway.

You sat on the edge of your bed obediently, bending over to remove your shoes, but Sam was there kneeling beside you in an instant, waving your hands away. He unzipped your boot and slowly slipped it off your foot, careful not to rattle your ankle in the process, with one hand holding on firmly to your calf.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said as he repeated the process with your sock.

“What for?”

“For making you feel like I don’t respect you as a hunter, for making you believe I don’t trust you.” He was down to the compression wrap he’d picked up for you at a drugstore, with which he took extra care removing, keeping his movements slow and cautious. “None of that’s true; I just didn’t want you to hurt yourself more.”

You studied Sam in the pale light, drunk on the feeling of his hands on your skin, “I saved your ass though, didn’t I?”

That brought a chuckle to Sam’s lips, his hands still supporting the full weight of your lower leg as he prodded lightly at the bloated skin around your foot, “Well, the swelling’s definitely worse, but yeah, you did.”

“Then it was worth it. Your ass will always be worth it.”

Sam looked up at you and found himself getting lost in the truth within your eyes. There was a buzz of raw emotion vibrating through the air between you, and so many words came to his mind, but in the end, he settled on, “Come on, we gotta keep this foot elevated.” He then grabbed your waist and managed to move you up the bed in one smooth motion, “I’ll go get you some ice.”

You immediately missed his fingers and the way they had absentmindedly stroked your calf, staring wantonly at his back as he walked out the door.

→ CARRY ON

thank you so much for reading! feedback is scientifically proven to make me write faster! 💞

STTC TAG TEAM (let me know if you wanna be added or removed): @carryonmywaywardbucky​ @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese​ @gia-25​ @laurakirsten0502​ @matchesarelit​ @sams-sass​ @swiftlymoniquesblog​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​

[dickspeightjrs]

Hope (2.2k words)

sequel to Despair (I’d recommend reading that first, it’s only short)

Chuck had been defeated.

Cas was still gone. 

Those were the thoughts going through Dean’s head since the day they managed to remove Chuck from the universe for good. 

As usual for Dean, he kept on a front for the sake of Sam and Jack. He showed his relief at Chuck finally being gone, but in the privacy of his own thoughts, he was overwhelmed with a fresh onslaught of despair. 

The day Chuck died, everyone who he had taken appeared outside the bunker. It seemed as if Chuck had been playing with them like toys and dropped them as he met his demise in the warded bunker dungeon. 

Dean, Sam and Jack had stepped outside the sheltered door of the bunker to find a sea of people going on for what seemed like miles. Many of them were strangers who were innocent to the reason for their disappearance. But peppered around were also their friends and family. 

Bobby. Charlie. Donna. So many more. 

Only, as he scanned through the array of faces, Dean couldn’t help but be more and more disappointed that Castiel wasn’t among them. Why would he be? His death wasn’t anything to do with Chuck. Though it didn’t stop Dean hoping. 

It was a few days until everything settled again. 

The boys helped people return to their homes and tried to give them an explanation that wouldn’t be too traumatising. Sam had led the way - he seemed born for it, being a leader. His soft demeanour despite his towering height made people warm to him. Especially compared to Dean’s stormy face and body language. 

Jack still stayed quiet most of the time. Poor kid was taking Castiel’s death hard. Dean honestly regretted being so tough on him at times. He regretted saying Jack wasn’t family. He was. Of course he was. Castiel loved Jack like a son and that made Dean love him now too. 

There were times during the busyness of the bunker that Dean and Jack’s eyes would meet and he’d give Dean a look that told him that he was thinking of Cas too. That he missed him too. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the people inhabiting the bunker were gone and it was left in a more calming silence. 

Donna and Charlie had just left together, both giving Dean an extra hard squeeze as they said goodbye. He knew what the hug was for and he was grateful neither of them had brought up Cas while they’d been there. Dean didn’t know how he would have reacted. 

Once the two women were out of sight, Dean hunched even further into himself and mumbled to Sam that he was going to bed. He didn’t care that it was the middle of the day. He was exhausted and needed refuge from his thoughts. 

Sam responded with a look of shock, which Dean wasn’t surprised by. Dean hadn’t slept properly - as properly as a hunter could anyway - since Cas died. Instead, he’d fall asleep in the library while he’d been looking through lore books. 

(Sam and Jack thought he’d been helping to look for ways to bring down Chuck but he’d actually been looking up anything that might even slightly mention the Empty. He’d thought he’d been secret about it until one day he woke up to find a new book on the table next to him, open to a chapter on a possible way to summon the Empty. Dean didn’t know who put it there, Sam or Jack, but he was grateful for their quiet support.) 

Dean trudged tiredly to his room. Truthfully, he’d been avoiding it ever since Cas died. It wasn’t even like they’d spent much time in there together but he couldn’t handle being alone in a space that was meant to bring him joy and comfort knowing that he’d never see Cas again. 

He’d never had the chance to feel the angel lying next to him and yet he missed it with his entire being. 

Dean’s head ached with a consistent, dull pain. It had been constant since he’d started visiting the woods to speak to Cas. He’d only been back there a couple of times but the night before they killed Chuck, Dean had vowed to Cas that he’d do it and get it right this time. He still looked around for any sign that Cas had heard him but there was nothing. Only the beginnings of a throbbing headache. 

Blinking slowly and shaking his head slightly to try to relieve the pain, Dean finally collapsed onto the bed and let sleep take him. 

Sleep started as a dreamless slumber but, at some point in the night, he felt that same pain again like a punch through his brain. It woke him up, panting and sweating, but when he sat up the pain was gone. And with no memory of what he could have been dreaming about, Dean lay there fighting the spindled fingers of sleep around his mind, determined that he’d never sleep again if it meant not having to feel that pain. 

Of course, it was impossible to maintain having no sleep, even for Dean Winchester - King of sleep deprivation. 

The minute Dean fell into a deep sleep he would be shocked back awake with a burning pain in his head. 

This continued for almost a week after Chuck’s death. Until one night, when Dean shot up in bed, sweat cooling on his skin, he remembered. 

He’d dreamt about the woodland clearing he’d been buried in when Cas had returned him from hell. The dream felt so real it was like he could smell, touch, taste the Earth around him as he ripped himself from the ground. 

Cursing his mind for adding to his never-ending torture, Dean left his room and got himself some coffee from the kitchen - determined not to let himself fall asleep again until he absolutely had to. 

Dean reached his breaking point a few days later. 

He’d been tired and irritable, snapping at Sam and Jack whenever they so much as looked at him. Knowing he couldn’t continue living like this, he let sleep take him once more, bracing himself for the inevitable pain. 

The pain came, but not before Dean saw fleeting images of the woodland again. Only this time, it was like he was a bird flying high above and he could see fallen tree trunks arranged in almost perfect circles. And in the centre was a figure, a person, hunched over on bent knees as if they were praying. 

The person moved to stand on their feet and as they were about to turn a white, burning heat coursed through Dean’s head. 

The pain didn’t shock Dean anymore but the recurring image of the hunched figure replayed in his mind. 

Dean thought what he’d been seeing in his dreams had been disjointed memories of the time he pulled himself out of that grave. But it couldn’t have been. There was never anyone else there when he’d risen to the surface. He’d walked for miles with no soul in sight. 

So who was this hunched figure? Why was Dean dreaming of them? 

And why was every fibre of Dean’s being telling him to get in his car and drive all night until he reached that very spot? 

Taking a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, Dean climbed out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen. 

When he arrived he was surprised to see Sam sitting at the table with a pot of coffee, freshly brewed if the rolling steam coming off it was anything to go by. 

“What’re you doing here, Sammy?” Dean asked, taking a seat opposite his brother. 

Sam pushed a cup of coffee towards Dean. “Waiting for you.” 

“Okay… trying not to be creeped out that you’re sat waiting for me in the kitchen at 3AM…” Dean replied. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “I wanted to talk to you. You’ve been avoiding me and Jack for weeks now. And I noticed you come in here at night sometimes. So I took a chance tonight.” 

Curse his brother for knowing him so well.  

“I don’t know what to tell you, man.” Dean shrugged.

“How about the truth?”

Ha. There was no way Dean was ever telling Sam the truth. If nothing else, Cas deserved to be the first person Dean told about his feelings. And if he never got the chance to do that, well, the secret would die with Dean. 

But Dean really did want Sam’s opinion on the dreams he’d been having. Telling Sam about the dreams didn’t count as telling him the whole truth, did it? 

Dean cleared his throat. “I’ve been having these… dreams, I guess.” He sighed. “I just keep seeing the forest where Cas left me when he raised me from hell. But it’s not a memory because it’s like I'm seeing it from above and there’s this person there.” 

Sam nodded, encouraging Dean to continue. 

“I don’t know if I’m just going crazy but it feels real. Like something deep inside me is telling me that this is important.” Dean avoided Sam’s gaze. “And I get these pains in my head, it’s fucking agony.” 

After a few moments of silence, Dean raised his head to meet Sam’s eyes. 

They held nothing but warmth for his older brother. 

“Look, Dean, I know you haven’t told me and Jack the whole truth of what happened when Cas d-, when he left, but I know more than anyone what it’s like to lose someone you love.” 

Dean felt all the blood in his body rush to his face.

“Come on, Dean. You can’t be surprised that I know how you feel about Cas. Anyone who has ever seen you two together knows that you’d tear apart the Earth for each other.” Sam stated, simply.

Suddenly, Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t deal with this knowledge that apparently everyone had known about his and Cas’ mutual feelings before they even did. 

He got up from the table and stalked to the door, trying to stop his hands from shaking. 

Sam just let him go but just as Dean was about to escape to the quiet of his room, he spoke up. 

“Dean?” Sam asked, waiting for Dean’s attention to turn back on him. “Those dreams you’ve been having? I don’t know if it’s the same but I just know that I thought the visions I had of Jess were just dreams and I’d hate for you to make the same mistakes I did.” 

Dean swallowed and nodded once at Sam before exiting to his bedroom. 

Within the hour he was hurtling along the highway in the Impala. 

*  *  * 

Dean’s skin tingled with electricity as he approached the clearing. He hadn’t been back here since that day all those years ago. 

He didn’t know what he hoped to find. For the entire journey there, he’d second guessed himself a million times but ultimately he had to know. 

He had to know if he was simply going crazy or if this was some kind of sign of something else at work. 

Finally, he made it to the large expanse of fallen trees. The electricity running through his veins increased as he spotted a figure sat in the dead centre, curled in on itself. 

His heart raced to a speed he would surely die from but Dean kept carefully placing one slow foot in front of the other. 

Until he heard a crack under his foot. 

He looked down to see that he’d stepped on a twig, which snapped under the pressure, sending a ripple of sound across the clearing. 

The hunched figure went ramrod straight where they were. 

Dean swallowed and continued walking ahead. 

Only, he was stopped in his tracks when the figure turned, a slow agonising turn. 

Dean felt sick. He’d come this far thinking, hoping, praying that this would somehow be something that led him back to Cas. But what if he had come all this way only to be disappointed? He didn’t think he could handle the heartbreak. 

Taking a deep breath, Dean closed his eyes and stayed rooted to the spot. 

“Dean?” 

Dean felt euphoria storm through his every atom. 

He opened his eyes and was met with the sight of Castiel, angel of the lord, standing in the middle of fallen trees, staring back at Dean like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. 

Wasting no more time, Dean broke into a sprint, running faster than he was sure he’d ever done before. 

Self-doubt tried to battle its way through, telling him that this was a trick. Castiel couldn’t possibly be back. But he ignored it. 

Dean could have been running into the arms of a devil in disguise and he’d still do it just to have one second in Castiel’s embrace. 

When he reached Cas he pulled the angel as close to his body as could be physically possible. 

“Dean.” Castiel spoke again. And, god, Dean could have cried hearing his name come from the lips of his beloved once again. “Dean. I’m sorry.”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted, still holding Cas tight in his arms. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry.” 

“I just didn’t know what else to do.” Castiel sobbed against Dean’s shoulder.

“I don’t care. I don’t care.” Dean said, sternly, gripping Castiel against him. “I could barely let myself hope that those dreams were you, Cas. You have no idea how fucking happy I am right now.” 

Castiel pulled away from Dean slightly to look him in the eyes. “I couldn’t find any other way to find you Dean. I wasn’t even sure you’d still be alive. I used the last of my powers to project myself into you. I didn’t truly know if it would work but I hoped.” Tears poured down his face. “Coming back here was the only place I knew that you’d recognise was ours.”

“It’s okay, Cas. It’s okay. I’m here now. And neither of us are going anywhere without the other again.”

Castiel nodded and smiled, placing a delicate hand to Dean’s cheek. “Is it too much to hope that this means I was wrong, and you do actually return my feelings?” 

A laugh ripped through Dean in a way that it hadn’t in years, even before Cas had been taken by the empty. “Castiel, angel of the lord, ever since you saved me from hell, I’ve never been the same. You changed me. And I am hopelessly and completely in love with you.” 

Not letting a second more go to waste, Dean didn’t wait for a response from Cas. He pulled the angel into a deep kiss that he hoped told Castiel everything that there weren’t enough words in the world to say. 

(Tag list below - if you’d like to be added or removed, let me know!)

@rambleoncas @eccentriccas @joharvele @tearsofgrace @starrynightdeancas @aurastiel @dreamnovak @good-things-do-happen-dean @ccstiel @destielle @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @bend-me-shape-me

@thechaosthatismybrain @rusted-peopleskills @castiel-enthusiast @wheniwrite28 @fandomsofafeather @ripreptaytion @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @writtenmemxries @gum-believable @breathingdestiel @squintingg

@thefourthheadofcerberus @professorerudite @harmonyhelms @babyinabelstaf @monipotty @tinyroolove7

[kyber-kisses]

Pour Me A Drink

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: mentions of character death, cursing, spoilers for 14.10, blood, slight canon divergence. (Like very, very slight), no happy ending here folks ye be warned

Summary: When Michael takes over Dean once more, he gives him his own little slab of paradise deep inside his head. . . Not that Dean knows that of course.

A/N: can you guess which episode I was watching earlier? This game to my mind while watching and I couldn’t help but write more angst.😬

Content.

If Dean had to choose one word for how he felt right now that would be the one. Content. And more than he had been in a very long time, he might add.

Outside the rain was coming down in sheets, an unpredictable spring thunderstorm having decided to roll into Lebanon earlier in the evening. The radio on the end of the bar was turned down slightly, playing some tune by the Eagles that Dean couldn’t quiet name at the moment.

Slicing through yet another lime, he looked up, a gentle smile crossing his face as he watched you. Apart from the two of you the bar was empty, and if he was being honest he liked it somewhat better that way. Any quality time spent with you was heaven sent.

You currently sat crisscross on the bar top, too occupied with shuffling the deck of cards in your hands to notice Dean smiling at you. You hummed lightly to the tune on the radio, every once and while pausing to take a sip of the drink he had made you.

God, you were so beautiful. Every time he looked at you he found it harder to pull his eyes away each time. The way your lips curled in contentment as you shuffled the cards, the way your hair curled around your ears only to fall back in front of your eyes when you attempted to tuck them back. How your eyebrows knitted together whenever you were deep in thought.

“Crazy how you are effortlessly cute.” He echoed suddenly, dropping the cut up slices of lime into a bowl before wiping his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder.

“Crazy how you’re effortlessly annoying, but thank you, you’re not too bad yourself.” Not looking up from your cards, you grinned, fanning out the deck in your palms.

“What are you doing now?”

Extending your palms, you finally looked up at him, your gaze making him suck in a breath. “Pick a card.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, now come on. Don’t leave me hanging Cowboy.”

With a roll of his eyes, the hunter made his way down the bar to where you were, pausing for a second in front of you before yanking a card from the deck.

“Alright, now memorize it-“ you nodded. “And now put it back in.”

Letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, he slid the card back into your hands, watching as you shuffled the cards again.

“Alright, now what? You gonna guess my card?”

“Hold your horses.” You laughed, letting out a puff of air to get a loose piece of hair out of your eyes. Fanning out the deck again you held them out for him to see. “Do you see your card in here?”

“Mmmm no.”

“Well then, I guess I’m just gonna have to reach behind your ear and produce this-“ as you did, you pulled out the card, the piece pinched between your middle and pointer fingers, a proud smile on your face.

So damn beautiful.

He let out a low whistle, taking his card from your hand. “Impressive. But I’m not gonna lie, when you said you had magic hands, I was kind thinking of something different.”

Dean watched as you pursed your lips, doing that little thing in which you tried to suppress your smile. “You flirtin with me, Dean Winchester?

“So what if I was?” His own smile growing as he leaned in closer, folding his arms over your crossed knees as he looked up at you.

Dropping the deck onto the counter you currently sat on, you slowly leaned down towards him, his breath lightly fanning over your lips. “Well, I would say. . . You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that.” Pressing an index finger to his lips you slowly sat back up, watching his face fall in defeat.

“Okay, okay-“ raising his hands, Dean stood back upright, moving back to his tasks. Taking your now empty glass, the older Winchester placed it in the sink. “Alright, here I got one.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s another one of your bad pick up lines.”

“Oh come on, you know you love them.”

Rolling your eyes, you gave in. “Alright fine. Hit me.”

Dean smiled again, a side affect that came with just looking at you. “Are you oxygen, because you keep me alive.” Throwing a set of finger guns at you, his smile only grew when you grimaced.

“. . . I think that might be the worst one yet. You are a total dork.”

“Yeah, but I’m your dork.” He winked, waving his wedding band at you.

Letting out a light huff, you slid front he counter, shoving the cards back into the box. “I’m gonna go put these away. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Before he could say anything else you were already crossing the room and going down the hallway towards his office, his jade eyes watching you with a fondness as you disappeared.

“Dean?”

The hunter spun on the spot, suddenly finding his brother and best friend standing across the bar. “Hey! There they are!” Dean exclaimed, picking up the the bar rag on the counter. “Kill a goul, get a beer.”

“Dean?” Sam repeated, confused as to what was playing out in front of him.

“Got this great IPA from Austin—the cosmic cowboy.” Already filling up a glass, Dean placed it on the counter, turning to glance over his shoulder to see if you had come back yet. “You’re gonna love it.”

The younger Winchester and angel stood frozen, neither making a move forward as their eyes stayed wide and confused. The bar, the drinks. . . None of it made sense.

“Hey Dean, what’s going on here?”

“What are you talking about?” Oblivious to his brothers concern, Dean looked up from the glass he was cleaning.

“Sam? Cas? Didn’t realize you guys had gotten back yet. I’m glad you guys got home safe.”

Raising an eyebrow to the confused and bewildered looks on both of their face, you made you way across the bar floor.

“I was starting to worry.” You smiled, “but don’t tell Dean. He’ll somehow use it against me.” You whispered, taking a second to look over your shoulder at the hunter behind the bar, setting glasses back in their proper spaces.

Sam was stunned into silence though, looking down at you with wide and confused eyes. It had been so long since he last seen you, since any of them had. It had been years. Surprised wasn’t a good enough word for what he and Cas were feeling as they looked at you. Maybe they should have seen this coming. . .

Giving them both a pat on the shoulder you turned back around, moving to go help Dean with whatever he was doing.

Cas turned to Sam, talking low to make sure neither of you heard. “How is she here? Y/Ns been-“

“Yeah, Cas. I know. But remember, this is all in his head. It’s not really her.”

“Hey, what are you guys waiting for?” Dean spoke up, pulling both of their attention towards the bar once more as he smacked the surface. “Drink up.”

Sams mouth opened and closed as he tried to find words. They had to get Dean out of here. Michael was still in control and they had no idea when he would show up. “None- none of this real, alright?” Sam breathed, taking a step towards the counter. “T-this, this bar, Y/N-“

“Excuse me?” You and Dean spoke in unison as you looked up from the glass in your hand, you raised an eyebrow, slightly leaning back. “You’ve never met anyone more real than me, Sam Winchester.”

“You’re just a complex manifestation of Deans memories.” Cas explained, locking eyes with you. “Designed to distract him.”

“Hey! Don’t be rude.” Dean butted in, stepping closer to you as he did. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

Putting a hand on his chest to stop him, you shook your head. That was the moment the two caught sight of the band on your finger, and Sam drew a shaky breath. No wonder Dean was in so deep he couldn’t realize what was going on. In this little fantasy you were still alive. . . And he was married to you. Ripping off this band-aid was gonna be painful for all of them, Dean most of all.

“Dean, you gotta remember what’s- what’s going on out there in the real world.”

Dean leaned forward to look around you. “I know it’s raining. What else do I need to know?”

“What? No. I’m not talking about the rain. I’m talking about Michael!”

That when there was a sudden shift and you were suddenly seated on one of the bar stools, Dean pouring you a shot. A second ago you were on the other side of the bar and now it looked like someone had suddenly hit fast foreword.

“Okay, what the hell is going on?!”

Bracing his hands on the bar top, Dean sighed. “Alright, now you’re starting to worry me. What is going on?”

There was another shift and all of a sudden Sam watched as his brother leapt over the bar, machete in hand as the two of you severed several vampire heads, sending a spray of blood across the both of them-

And then you were back behind the bar, the two of you cleaning more glasses like nothing had even happened.

“You guys got real messy on that goul hunt, huh?” You questioned, setting down a glass as Dean reached around you for something, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he went.

“No, we didn’t get messy on a hunt.” Cas breathed, now starting to get slightly irritated. “We got messy just now, in this bar, in a vampire fight.”

You and Dean shared another confused look. “Did they- did they smoke something?”

“Maybe-“

“We should probably rethink the beers.”

“Probably.” Dean nodded, grabbing back the glasses he had previously filled.

Rip the band-aid off, just do it Sam.

“Dean, listen to me-“ the younger Winchester stepped forward, hating that he had to pull this happy and care free version of his brother back into the harsh reality that was their lives. He was gonna have to pull him away from you. “I think- I think you’re stuck in some sort of loop, like inside your mind. Michael is possessing you!”

“Michael?” You raised an eyebrow, looking up at the jade eyed hunter besides you. “Like Michael, Michael?”

“Michael’s in the cage.” Dean explained, unable to register what insanity his brother and best friend were going on about. “C’mon guys, what is this, some kind of joke?”

“No, Dean. It’s not a joke.”

“Okay, okay-“ butting in one an attempt to ease the tension, you locked eyes with Sam. “If we’re all in Deans head, he should be able to control things like a lucid dream, right?”

“Yeah. I-I don’t know, maybe.”

“Okay.” Slapping Deans arm to get his attention he turned to you. “Pour me a shot. . . With your brain.”

Deans eyes lit up like before, the crows feet of his eyes crinkling as he laughed with you. The action making both Cas and Sam wince. This was already difficult enough.

“Okay, Dean. Listen to me. This bar, it’s not real.” he swallowed. “Y/N, she’s not real. We were there when she was attacked-“

Deans eyebrows drew together in sudden concern. “When she was what?”

Sam sucked in a breath. Just rip it off. “Dean, she’s dead.”

The words hit Dean with the force of a damn bullet, his eyebrows once again drawing together as he looked at Sam, a new glint of fear now resting in his irises.

“No- no that's not right.” He shook his head before turning, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you on the mouth, feeling you smile against his lips. “See? Right here and alive.” He needed to convince these two you were alive, could they not see you breathing?

“She died almost five years ago. She died helping us.”

Once again, Dean drew his eyebrows together, this time irises filling with fear. If this was some sort of joke, it was sick. Really, really sick. . . But then a second later images snapped through his brain like a child gone crazy with a view master. He wasn't sure what triggered it, but it slammed into him.

Bloody wallpaper.

Torn carpet.

Shattered glass.

Broken furniture.

A limp body in the center of it all.

Shaking his head in an attempt to fling the images away, he sucked in a breath. It was a joke. Just a sick joke. “No. No, no,no,no. Guys, c’mon. This- this is my life. This is the dream!”

“No, Dean. It’s just a dream. Nothing else.” Cas explained, “but you need to wake up, the people in your life, your real life- they need you. We all do.”

The hunter was silent for a moment more, giving himself a moment to actually believe what they were saying. “But- if the real world doesn’t have Y/N, why would I want to go back?”

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Sam racked his brain. He had to get Dean out of here- even if it meant hurting him.

“Poughkeepsie.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, taken back by the word. “What did you say?”

“Poughkeepsie.” Sam repeated.

And just like that, it all came back. One big tidal wave of memories that had Dean feeling sick to his stomach, eyes burning with unshed tears. He remembered it all, every twisted and terrible thing that had ever happened to him. . . Including finding your lifeless form on the floor of that motel room.

It was all there.

And he hated it.

That’s when the sudden slow clapping pulled all three head to look towards the door to the bar, Michael standing there stoically, you suddenly by his side, but acting as if nothing was off, like he was just some friend who had stopped by for a drink.

“Hey fellas.”

Deans jaw clenched as he took a step closer. Even if you weren’t real, he wanted that thing as far away from you as possible.

“Well, this is fun.”

“Get out of my head.”

“Oh, Dean, now watch your tone.”.

Dean shook his head, taking another menacing step closer. “Oh I don't think so, you see- I don't want you here. Get. Out.”

Michael's eyes widened in mock surprise before he leaned forward slightly. “You want me to leave?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well you see, I cant do that. Not yet.-“ raising a hand, the archangel snapped his fingers. At first nothing happened, but then you began to sway on your feet and Dean turned all his attention back towards you, a crimson bloom spreading out across your tank top.

And then you dropped.

Everything in him was reminding him it wasn’t real, that this you was just an illusion made by Micheal to get him to comply. but it didn’t stop him from lunging towards your body as you collapsed, a dark pool of blood crawling across the floor.

“No, no,no- Y/N.”

De-an.”

Michael took a delicate step back from the blood, eying Dean with an amused smirk as he watched him try to gather you up in his arms, your dead weight making it difficult.

“Michael, stop it!”

“Stop what? There’s nothing to stop. Like dear old Sammy said, She’s been dead for years, Dean.”

You were already growing cold in his arms, his bloody hand gripping at yours like if he squeezed hard enough he could will you back to life. But nothing happened.

Michael was right. You were gone. And you had been for a long time now. He just didn’t like picturing it or being reminded.

“Why are you doing this?!”

“Oh, but I thought it was oblivious? I want to break you.”

That’s when the archangel snapped once again, and the world went dark, and Dean was reminded of his loss all over again..

SPN Taglist: (Still Open)

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda​ @jordangdelacruz​ @orphiceseum​ @andthatsmyworld​ @marvelfangirllll​ @fandomnerdespressourself​ @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx​ @lxstgxrl-ck​ @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff​ @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl​  @totallyluciferr​ @supernaturalenchanted​ @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts​ @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler​ @heyyy-hey-babyyy​ @supernaturalenchanted@emptycanvasposts @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue​ @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo​ @xoxoaudreymarie​ @greenarrowhead​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​  @mysticalfuncollectorus​ @brebolin​ @biahblue​ @noahandthegiraffe​ @hhiggs​ @mila-dans​ @mrsmaybankhere​ @malindacath​  @littleagxs​ @deanwanddamons​ @idksupernatural​​ @ivyyie​ @moony-and-spring​ @iidontgiveafuckuniverse​ @herfalsegod​

[deans-haunted-baby]

Best Part of Me

*This is my fix-it of Jack’s reaction to Cas’s death in 15x19 and some of the events in 15x18 rewritten. Featuring a flashback post episode 14x10. I was so disappointed they never really let Jack feel this loss when he dreaded that deal for a whole year. The title is from a song by St Leonards. Enjoy!*

Summery: In Hastings Minnesota, after learning from Dean of Castiel’s sacrifice to the Empty. Jack runs off to be alone somewhere in the deserted town. Breaking down and reliving the last good memory of a hunt he and Cas went on together 

Sam and Jack sauntered down the quiet roads, surveying the desolated scenery, coming to a 4-way stop. Nothing but emptiness all around them. Vacant buildings and vehicles, one smashed into a telephone pole. Stores still blinking their neon open signs in the windows. Car alarms blaring off in the distance. But no voices. Not a trace of any souls anywhere. Just nobody. Everyone was gone and the two hunters began feeling like they were starring in that Chuck Heston flick The Omega Man.

Jack could see his tall, anguished mentor was distracted, often checking his phone for calls in case Dean or Eileen or maybe Cas… Desperately searching inside the unoccupied cafes and stores in case they missed someone. He’d been beating himself up all night for not being able to save the AU world survivors. And it was driving him crazy not hearing from his brother for the past 12 hours. 

“We should’ve heard from them by now.” Sam blurted; quickening his pace towards a truck. Peeking inside. “Come on Dean, where are you?”

“You think they’re alright?” Jack asked uncertain.

“I don’t know. But you were the last person to talk to Cas.” Sam approached the boy getting restless. “What; did he say anything to you before you guys got cut off?”

Immediately Jack stopped; swallowing hard as he lowered his eyes to the pavement. “No…not really.”

The truth was Jack couldn’t get over this weird twinge he felt in his chest; an ache that refused go away. Like a piece of him had been severed and now he was nursing the phantom pain. The Nephilim boy had it ever since the last time he spoke to his father on his phone…before they were abruptly interrupted by static. Last night the group had split. Dean and Castiel went to confront Billie at the bunker while Jack stayed behind with Sam at the hideaway to protect the remaining people that hadn’t been erased. Next thing he knows survivors are disappearing in front of him, people he knew. Friends and fellow hunters. And then his phone set to vibrate; buzzes irritably in his jacket pocket to which he’d fished it out.

________________________________________

Several hours earlier

 “Jack!” the angel’s gruff voice was urgent. But relieved when his son had answered. “Oh, thank heavens.”

“Cas?” the young boy chirps; raking his fingers through his hair. Still not over the shock of seeing all their people vanish and exchanging disturbed looks with Sam. “Cas are you and Dean okay? Did Billie?”

“No, we’re fine,” he replies back; tone switching from critical to sudden despair. “What about you and Sam, the survivors?”

Jack’s face fell on the verge of tears; pacing away from the tall hunter and leaning against the wall.

“They’re gone.” He chokes out. “All of them… Cas…Sam and I tried…we tried… It happened so fast… We just couldn’t save anyone.”

The Nephilim boy heard a heavy sign on the other end then Castiel says, “It wasn’t your fault Jack. None of this is your fault, alright.”

“No, I could’ve done something! If-if I still had my powers, I could’ve protected all of us!”

“Jack, no. Don’t do that to yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done and you did all you could do, okay.” The angel encourages firmly though soft. Giving Jack a chance to calm down before he adds. “Listen…there’s something I…need to tell you…in case anything happens.”

Jack’s heart rose in his throat. “What do mean in case something happens to you?” he demands; voice rising. “Cas what’s wrong?”

“Nothing…yet.”

“What does that mean?”

“You remember what we talked about?” There’s something in Castiel’s question that begins to worry the young Nephilim. “The night we were hunting in Albuquerque?”

Jack let out a sharp intake of breath. “Yes but…what does that have to do with right now?”

The angel hesitates briefly and resumes a response; spontaneously changing the subject.

“I’m so proud of you Jack. I’m proud of the person you are and who you’re becoming,” Castiel’s deep baritone was gentle as it always was whenever he spoke to his son. Never above a decimal than he had to; reserving his emotions. Yet the sadness was unmistakable. “The day that I met you and your mother…changed my life forever. When you chose me…I knew…I knew the moment when I first connected with you through Kelly…felt your love…that I wanted to be your father. And I never felt more happiness in all my eons than I did raising you.”

“Cas why’re saying this?” Jack stuttered; his eyes glistening. He was so confused over the angel’s choice of phrases. “Don’t…”

“Jack I…I need you to do something for me…alright?”

Castiel’s request was blunt yet sudden, jerking the young Nephilim out of his afflicted stupor. “What is it?”

“I want you to look after Sam and Dean for me,” He says melancholically. “Can you do that?”

“Why? What about you?” Jack gasps; his whole-body trembling; going cold. Sinking into a corner holding his knees. Yet he tries to maintain his anxiety during the situation. “Cas, you’re scaring me.”

“I know this is going to be difficult for you to understand but…I want you to be strong, Jack. Stronger than you’ve ever been… To never give up on yourself no matter what. Because I know you will do amazing things one day. I believe in that. I’ve only ever seen good in you.”

“Cas…”

The angel pauses, and with another sigh he reveals, “I love you, son. I love you more than anything in the whole world… You’re the best part of me, Jack… I’m happy because of you; for the time we got together. And I just wanted you to know that…”

Jack could hardly speak his throat clogged. Tears now rolling down his cheeks. He wanted to return those words so badly, his chest swelling like something crushed him from the inside. Finally untangling the muscles in his neck, he pleads.

“Cas…Dad, wait I-” just as the Nephilim boy is about confess the line goes dead mid-sentence followed with an indescribable pain hitting him in the heart; causing Jack to drop his cell in defeat. Muttering the words to himself. “…I love you too.”

________________________________________

Present time

Not long after the two hunters had given up their search for signs of life, did they hear a familiar engine of a car. And a black 67’ impala wheeled around the corner of the street; parking beside two large plants in front of a blue and white store. Dean, he was alive. Sam and Jack wanted to feel elated at that moment…until they saw him exit the vehicle. Alone. And the Nephilim boy’s chest pains increased. Why wasn’t Castiel with him? Jack was too afraid to even ask in case he got an answer he didn’t want. So instead, the three guys traded bleak looks in the middle of the road; minding the fragments of what was once a functioning civilization.  

“Everyone’s gone,” Sam says to Dean; barely leveling his shock. Looking around with that false hope someone else might pop up. Then he glances back at his older brother who’s avoiding his gaze. “You see anybody on the way here?”

“No.” the elder Winchester replies huskily. His expression tormented. Again, Jack is afraid of reading him too closely.

Sam fidgeted on the spot; squints his eyes and imparts, “I couldn’t save anybody.” A hint of bitterness enflames his voice at the thought of that reaper. “Billie.”

“It wasn’t Billie. It was Chuck.” Dean discloses.

“What?”

Right then Jack couldn’t keep quiet anymore. He needed to know the truth; impulsively jumping into the conversation.

“Where’s Cas?” His voice was harsh.

The taller Winchester peered over his shoulder at the Nephilim boy but Dean couldn’t even give him direct eye-contact. Visibly shaken. Jack had detected redness within the whites of his puffy eyes. He was so anguished about something that it made the other two hunters nervous. Finally, its Sam’s turn to inquire about the angel’s whereabouts.

“Dean, where is he?”

The elder Winchester was apprehensive; staring off vacantly. Hanging his head and licking his lips trying to conjure up the best explanation he could which might lessen the blow. But Jack was impatient; arms at his sides. Heart pounding with fear. He doesn’t want excuses he just wants a straight answer from his other mentor about his dad. And he was going to get it whether he liked it or not.

“He saved me. Billie was coming after us and…Cas fought her off until we found someplace safe,” asserts Dean and he looks over at Jack who’s getting paler listening to the story. “While you and Cas were…speaking on the phone, he summoned the Empty. It took her. And it took him…” Jack’s heart instantly sank to his stomach. No, this couldn’t be true. No. The Nephilim boy backpedaled, shaking his head in disbelief. Noticing the tears in the hardened hunter’s eyes. “I’m so sorry Jack… Cas is gone.”

Sam’s grief had swallowed him up whole; touching his face with both hands. Struggling to keep it together. But Jack was the opposite. Standing there wearing a hollow smile; releasing a counterfeit laugh.

“No, that’s not true,” argues the Nephilim. “I just talked to him last night. He was okay.”

Sam attempted to console the boy; quickly wiping at his wet face. “Jack.”

“Cas’s fine you’ll see. He’s coming back. He has to come back. I didn’t get to tell him I loved him too.”

But Dean hardly in the mood for sentiments wouldn’t play along. “Jack, he-he’s not… Cas isn’t coming back. I’m sorry.” As Sam tries to reach his hand out to touch the young Nephilim’s shoulder, he receives a heated defensive glare.

Nobody touches him there except for Castiel. NO ONE.

“NO!” Jack barks jerking his body away from the taller hunter’s grasp; face beet red. Even though he already knew. Felt the truth in his heart all along the second that line went dead; the boy had been reluctant to accept it. He was too overwhelmed with denial. “I said Cas’s is coming back! HE’S COMING BACK!”

“Jack, wait!”

Quickly the Nephilim storms off in a random direction of the street; ignoring the Winchesters’ shouts behind him. It didn’t matter where he was going, he just needed to get away from them. Away from the sunlight. From the noise. Away from everything else still standing. Into nothingness. Somewhere that didn’t feel so loud or enclosed. Putting a palm to his head, Jack starts to feel dizzy and an urge to vomit. His vision blurred and his legs began to wobble each step he took. Nothing felt real anymore. It was terrifying.

He could hardly breathe as if something were suffocating him.

Over and over, Jack’s mind is racing in between panicked breaths. “Cas? Cas, where are you?” Reaching his hand out in front of him like a blind person; aimlessly searching for that invisible tether that bound him to the trench-coated angel. Receiving nothing but a light breeze against his skin. “Dad, please, tell me where you are?”

At last, the Nephilim boy stumbles on an old dessert parlor. Sammy’s Highway Café. Despondently gawking at the stupid giant pink milkshake on top of the sign. Walking inside not caring whether he was trespassing or not. The lights were off but Jack could see traces that this place was thriving not too long ago. It smelt of stale food and drink; evident of half eaten platefuls of burgers with fries and empty glasses sitting on top of some of the booth tables. Along the counter was a partially bitten donut beside a cold mug of coffee. A receipt with some money next to the till. And draped on one of the stools, it seemed as though someone had left their beige jacket which resembled so much like the angel’s trench.

Fragments and memories…of live people. Before Chuck took them…just like Castiel. His father.

Stepping towards a jukebox tilting his head, Jack’s blue eyes meet a half-full glass of milkshake sitting on the table close by. Pink, like the one on the sign outside. It disgusted him. A serge of hatred suddenly overflowed his body; knocking it onto the floor and smashing into pieces on impact. Unable to avoid the dibble of pink goo getting on his jeans only enraged the Nephilim more. Resulting in a fit of fury; swiping everything off the counter. Kicking at stray contents clinging to his shoes. His throat clogged up as the anger gave way to uncontrollable sobs. He wanted the pain to stop, but no matter how many things he destroyed, the hurt wouldn’t leave him.

“Cas you liar! YOU LIAR!” he howled; covering his tearful face with one hand collapsing into a corner. Crying. “You said you’d still be with me!”

For over an hour Jack sat like this; breaking down into his palms over his knees. Shedding more tears than he ever thought possible. Practically wearing his eyes out. It was his fault. He should’ve said it back, why didn’t he say it back? Why could he never tell the angel how much he’d meant to him when it counted? Jack wanted the tears to stop the but every time he tapped into an arbitrary memory of Castiel’s face smiling back at him or giving him that infamous sage advice. Heard that soft raspy voice saying his name. The pain worsened causing Jack to cry harder and longer.

All of a sudden, a sharp jab interrupted his grief. Jack was just about to grab the thing whatever it was and toss it until he realized what it was. Digging inside the sleeve of his white jacket, the Nephilim pulls out a single silver angel blade. Jack had completely forgot he’d been carrying it around with him since yesterday. No much longer than that, he carried it all the time in his clothes for a year now as it was very special to him. Wiping at his eyes, Jack clutches the blade and is instantly transported back into a memory of when he’d first received the weapon.

________________________________________

One Year Earlier

Castiel and Jack were in the outskirts of Albuquerque hunting a couple rugarus in the process of kidnapping a family in a warehouse. Around this time the young Nephilim was on probation for using his powers in the fight against AU Michael’s monsters. Ending with the unholy archangel prince trapped inside Dean’s mind. The reason for the restrictions was because of the resurrection spell keeping Jack alive. Every time he used power, he’d burn off part of his soul; something Castiel and the Winchesters did everything possible to prevent. And the best distraction for boy was usually going on some Team Free Will 2.0 hunts.

“Jack, NOW!” the angel shouts, wrestling with the second monster after his son successfully torches the first.

“I got it!” the Nephilim calls back, aiming the flamethrower nozzle ready to blast the creature. He’d remembered Sam and Dean’s specific instructions that the only way to kill a rugaru was to burn them. And he would’ve if he hadn’t frozen on the spot; Castiel would’ve been fried otherwise. There was no way, he couldn’t risk it. “I-I can’t! I can’t get him!”

“Jack, what are you doing?!”

“I don’t want to burn you!”

Immediately the angel groans grumpily. “It’s not holy fire!”

Jack wasn’t a gambler. “Yah but-

“Jack!”

Running out of time, the frantic young hunter goes over another strategy in his mind. He wasn’t willing to singe his dad to stop a monster. And that’s when it hit him. Reckless though it just might work.

“Wait, Cas let him go!” he clamors.

“What?!” Castiel was mystified at how crazy that plan was.

“Just let him go, trust me!”

Taking on too much faith the angel puts his trust in his son anyway and releases the rugaru; dodging out of range. As expected, it instantly launches at the nonchalant Jack who’s armed and ready with the flamethrower; projecting a lethal jet fuel of fire. The Nephilim then covers his ears as the creature releases high pitched throat screeches; its entire body engulfed until the thing’s charcoal hide falls lifeless to the ground. Breathing a sign of relief, Jack stares at the dead monster; spacing out. Brought back to reality when he hears the angel grumbling and rushes to his aid.

“Are you okay?” he asks his dad breathily; helping him to his feet.

“Yah, I’m fine.” Castiel belches; still sore from the fight. As an angel he was much stronger than a human, though it still hurt getting punched in the ribs. And the monsters he tangled with were far from weaklings. “So that was your plan? Just let him go, huh?”

Jack shrugged smirking. “It worked didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did.” The reluctant blue-eyed angel agrees dryly; giving his son an affectionate shoulder pat. “Come on, we’re not finished yet.”

“What do we have to do now?”

“Tend to the civilians.”

After releasing the captive family, Castiel and Jack resumed the dreary task of getting rid of the rotten smelling corpses and packing their things into the aquamarine pickup truck. The night air was hot accompanied with the usual sounds of owls and crickets chirping. Jack’s busily loads the flamethrower into the back compartment, unaware his father is taking a moment to gaze at him. Expressionless though underneath that reserved exterior is admiration. Despite using none of his powers, the boy had handled himself just as he’d done the other several times they’d hunted together.

Castiel couldn’t help feeling impressed with Jack; overwhelmed with a sense of pride. He’d come a long way in his training in such a short time; picking up skills faster than the angel had seen any human. But Jack wasn’t just getting better at the combat or the weaponry. His mind functioned more acutely than any other hunter in the field. And he wasn’t even three years old yet. Still there was something about tonight’s hunt that bothered Castiel. His son had nearly given into his own fear. Fear of losing…him; which could’ve costed them the lives of the family they were saving.

“Well, we’re all packed.” Jack announces gleefully; turning to the angel.

Stonily, Castiel approached the young Nephilim.

“Good.” He says; scratching his hair. “Ah Jack…can we talk about what happened back there?”

The question made the boy frown, unwinding his jaw. “Oh…right… Yah, I-I’m really sorry, Cas. I didn’t mean to-” He stopped himself.

But the angel finished his sentence. “To freeze?”

“Yah.” Jack hung his head in shame.

“Do you know why?”

Did he know why? Of course, he did! Jack was afraid. Afraid of hurting Castiel. No…he was scared of losing him and had been ever since that deal he’d made with the Empty. For the past month it’d been daunting on Jack the severity of his dad’s sacrifice; what it meant. Tried as he might to pretend it didn’t trouble him. Smiling, acting normal. the Nephilim secretly agonized over the angel’s fate. To the point where it either made him overprotective of Castiel or reckless during hunts. Just like tonight.

“I…just didn’t want to set you on fire too, that’s all.” Jack answers vaguely earning his dad’s titled scrutinized glare.

Being as close as they were, Castiel was pretty astute at reading his son’s body language. Knowing when he wasn’t entirely honest. “Are you sure that’s what it was…or was there something else holding you back?”

Jack swallowed, averting his gaze. And it dawns on the angel, sighing, looking heavenward. He didn’t need a verbal explanation; putting his hand on his son’s shoulder in an attempt to console him.

“Oh Jack, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how tough this has been for you.”

“I can’t help it,” concedes the young Nephilim; his gaze shiny. “I know you said not to worry about you but…I am. All the time. And when I keep thinking about that deal you made… I get this…awful feeling in my stomach. Like I’m being torn apart…from the inside.”

Castiel’s reserved face promptly falls, listening intently as Jack confides his deepest fears. Knowing that this deal had been causing his son so much grief pained him. The angel felt like someone had just run him through with his own sword.

“Cas I…I love you. And I don’t want to lose you. Not to the Empty or to anything.”

Parting his lips and softening his eyes; slowly absorbing everything he was hearing. Castiel was touched; taking a deep breath before reassuring. “But Jack, that rugaru was barely a threat to me. And you know my deal with the Empty… I’m far from happy for it to take me away any time soon.”

“What if I don’t want it to ever take you?” Jack remonstrates; defiantly scowling.

“I’m afraid its not that simple.” Sadly, contests the angel.

“But…I don’t want to lose you. I hate even thinking about it.”

“I know…so do I.”

Together the angel and the Nephilim boy endure a tender moment, leaning against the tail end of their truck side-by-side; taking small solace in each other’s company. And quietly gazing at the stars. Then out the blue a bright twinkle catches Castiel’s eye; reminding him of something he’d forgotten. His present to Jack. They’d been so wrapped up in dealing with Michael’s shenanigans, he hadn’t even found the time to give it to him yet. Delving into one of his trench-coat sleeves, Castiel presents the dumbfounded Nephilim with a polished angel blade.

“Cas what…why are you giving me this?”

Castiel pursed his gentle smile and winked. “Call it a late Christmas present. I’ve ah, I’ve been meaning to give it to you…when I felt there was a more appropriate time.”

Jack furrowed his brows; observing the weapon. “Your angel blade?”

He humbly accedes.

“Not just any angel blade but…its the very first one I ever fought with.” Divulges the docile angel. With two fingers he carefully touches the tip, devotedly looking over Jack’s awestruck expression. “I won many battles with this blade…for millions upon millions of years. Just when I thought I’d fall…this weapon seemed to…save my life. And I started to look at it as more of a…good luck charm I guess.”

“Cas I…I don’t know if I should take this. It means too much to you.”

“Jack, I want you to have it. Sort of a celestial warrior’s birthright and with your archangel half technically being of royal lineage…and you’re my son.” The young Nephilim grinned at him somberly; working the blade in his hand. And Castiel pauses giving himself a minute to think about what he was going to say to his son next as it would be difficult. Exhaling heavily, he conveys. “But I also want you have it…as a reminder that…wherever I am…I’ll always be with you.”

At this Jack’s eyes find his dad’s; expression dismal absorbing Castiel’s every word. “Because someday Jack its true, I won’t be here and you’ll have to carry on with your life. I can’t say when it will happen…it could be months or years… Whether it’s the Empty or something else…we will be separated… And it will hurt…” The Nephilim boy’s lip quivered as he holds back oncoming tears; looking away. Pain twisting all his insides; he didn’t like this conversation. Though Jack’s ears and heart remained open to the angel; touching his chest using his index finger. “But just because I won’t physically be here anymore…doesn’t mean I’m gone, Jack. I’m right there…within you. Whenever you need me. You understand?”

“I think so.”

Without warning Castiel embraces Jack in a bone-crushing hug; chins touching shoulders. Closing their eyes. And they held each other tight; savoring every single second of that closeness.

“I love you Jack.”

And Jack whispers out of earshot. “I love you too…Dad.”

________________________________________

Present time

Just like that the memory passed. Jack was back in the café he roughed up earlier. Alone. Curled up in fetal position, clutching the precious gift his father had given him; tears still streaming down his face. Hair matted and moist; clothes soiled. And his heart as broken as that milkshake glass he’d smashed on the floor. Castiel was gone. His dad was gone… Forever… It didn’t feel real, more like a nightmare. A nightmare Jack desperately wanted to wake up from. He couldn’t even think about moving his body it hurt too much. Whenever he tried lifting his head the dizziness settled in and he sunk back into his depression.

“No, I can’t do this.” Jack thoughts bombarded; gawking the angel blade in his grip. “I can’t keep lying here feeling sorry for myself. He wouldn’t want that, not after giving his life for me. I’m supposed to be a hunter and a celestial warrior. I have to be stronger now.”

Using every muscle at his disposal, Jack forces himself up off the floor. Grabbing a stool and countertop for support. His whole body ached; weighted down like it was full of dumbbells yet he didn’t quit moving. Jack could hear Castiel’s voice in his mind, encouraging him like he’d always done on hunts and during one of their sparring sessions in the gym.

“Come on Jack, get up! Get up now!”

“Yes, I will,” the Nephilim promises himself; gnashing his teeth. Lumbering forward on his wobbly legs ignoring the agony. “I won’t let you down Cas! I swear I won’t.”

“That’s it Jack, come on! You’re almost there!”

“Okay!”

One foot in front of the other. Jack slowly repeats this method of awkward walking until all the muscles in his legs have loosened and are functioning properly. As he’s feeling more mobile the pain is subsiding. It’s not quite gone but it’s not intolerable either. In fact, the Nephilim uses it to power through the wreckage and towards the exit. Drying his eyes with the back of his palm. Before Jack realizes it, he’s already reached the door pushing it open. And on his way to search for the Winchesters. Because he’s not alone… He’ll never be alone. He has his family. And Castiel is always with him; guiding him.

[nekumiko]

Colors

Fandom: Daiya no Ace

Genre: Romance

Rated: T

Words: 9, 024

Series: Colors

Summary:  She’s fascinated with his hair. Just his hair. But Ryousuke finds it invasive, and of course he won’t let her off that easily.

Chapter Seven: Jealousy (but not just Ryousuke’s)

If there is one thing you must know about Kominato Ryousuke, it's that he cherishes his family. Ever since his first year in Seidou - the first time he’s lived away from them - he’s been using the phone installed at the back of the dorms every once in a while to call his parents. But he'd only ask about life back home and about his brother (now, though, Ryousuke is the one who updates them about Haruichi). When he is asked about his day, he would answer, but would keep it brief. And unless he would talk about the schedule of their official games, he never initiates a topic about himself. 

Except for tonight, even if he’s not enthusiastic about the reaction he’d get.

"I must be keeping you from practicing,” his mother says from the other line. “Just always take care of each other, okay?  'Kaasan and 'Tousan miss you and Haruichi a lot!"

"Okay." Then, with a practiced, casual tone, Ryousuke adds, "By the way, I've got a girlfriend now."

His mother gasps. "What?” Ryousuke swears she could hear her smile as she repeats, “A girlfriend?"

He then moves the receiver away from his ear to save himself from his mother’s squeals. 

"Ryou-chan has a girlfriend now!" she practically sings. "I’m so proud!”

“‘Kaasan…”

“My eldest son is really so manly~”

“Please stop.”

“I can't wait to tell 'Tousan! Why is he taking so long in the shower?"

"I'm sure he and all our neighbors have already heard you." He smirks. "Okay, that's all. Good night, ‘Kaasan."

"What? So soon? But you can't just drop big news like that and leave!"

"But weren't you saying goodbye earlier?"

"Ryou-chan!"

Ryousuke chuckles. "I'll tell you more about her next time. I have to do a few more swings before bed." 

"Hmph. Fine. Good night."

"Yeah, good night." Ryousuke hangs up with a relieved sigh. At least that’s out of the way. 

It's only been a week and a half since he asked Aya out, but letting his parents know about her doesn’t sound so bad. Besides, it’s an important life update, isn’t it? 

A smile creeps up on his face once again. The fuzzy feeling in his chest whenever he thinks about Aya resurfaces. He takes a deep breath to keep it from overwhelming him, yet the smile remains. Okay. Now, we practice. He then turns around to go back to the indoor gym.

Haruichi stands there, dazed.

Ryousuke immediately sets his mouth back to a thin line. "Haruichi."

"Aniki…"

A silent moment passes. 

And then Ryousuke clears his throat. "You should've taken the phone from me. 'Kaasan was so heartbroken because you never call."

"Eh?" Haruichi startles at the change of subject. "I-I was about to, though…" he trails off, awkwardly crossing his arms in front of him.

Easily recognizing Haruichi's stance, Ryousuke relaxes his shoulders and puts his hands in his pockets with a defeated sigh. He would not let this go anyway.

"Is it true?" the younger Kominato finally asks, his cheeks turning pink. "Th-that Aniki has a girlfriend?"

Ryousuke stares at his brother silently for a few seconds, before smirking and stepping closer to him. Then he karate-chops the top of Haruichi's head. "Eavesdropper."

"I didn't mean to!" Haruichi, with his hands soothing the top of his head, turns in his spot as Ryousuke walks away. "I really was just about to use the phone!"

Ryousuke playfully waves his brother off, but before he rounds the corner, he stops and looks back. And with the slyest tone he could muster, he says, "Don't get a girlfriend just because I have one now, though."

"What?" Haruichi's blush turns a deeper shade. "Of course I won't!"

"Haruichi!" A girl struggling with three canned drinks and her school bag catches up to the pink-haired first-year the next day.

Haruichi bows in greeting. "Good morning… uh, Aya-san."

Aya finally reaches his side, a look of confusion on her face. "Hmm? What's with the hesitation?"

"N-nothing!"

"Okay…” Aya shifts her belongings to hold up a yellow can. “Hey, are you up for lemon soda? I got lucky in the vending machine today. But I already got drinks for Kazuya and me, so…"

With an uneasy smile, Haruichi takes the free drink (that's more on forced into his hand). "Thank you, um, Aya-san."

The girl raises an eyebrow in suspicion and slight worry as they start walking.

Haruichi's discomfort matches the color of the lemon beverage's can.

Does he want to talk about something? Or did I do something wrong?

Haruichi clears his throat just then. "Um, this is very sudden, but what would you like me to call you now? I've been thinking of 'Neesan,' or if I should match it with Aniki's and call you 'Aneki.'"

Her eyes widen. "This is a surprise." Then she turns away to continue in a rehearsed, calm tone, "But what does your brother have to do with this?"

"Huh? I just heard that he has a girlfriend now."

That makes Aya stop in her tracks, bewilderedly staring at the boy's profile. 

Haruichi pauses as well to look back at her. "Aya-san?"

She glances around. Okay, no one seems to have heard. She then pulls him to the side (as best as she could with all the items in her hands). "You've heard. Like from rumors, or from Ry- Kominato-san himself? Has he been telling people?"

"I, uh, just overheard his phone call to our parents last night."

"Your parents?" Aya exclaims. She looks down at her feet and mutters, "He's already gone that far?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Huh?” Aya looks back up at him and laughs nervously. “Nothing! I mean, who cares if he tells everyone about his girlfriend?"

Haruichi gasps, and then his shoulders noticeably sag. "So it's not you?"

The sight makes Aya's heart crack. "W-what makes me the first one you'd think of, anyway?"

He shrugs. "Well, a lot of things. Aside from the seniors, you're the person who's around him the most."

Oh. Of course. He has a Ryousuke radar. How could I forget?

"You also talk about and act as if you've known him for a long time." The signature pink finally dusts his cheeks. "D-do you remember the first time we met at the train station? When you mistook me for him… I mean, I think friends - or more than friends - greet each other like that when they meet up, right?" 

Haruichi, I tripped at that time.

"Ah, and you also said Aniki isn't really as harsh as he puts himself out to be. That must mean you've grown close enough to notice that."

I just followed Ryou around a little too much…

"And you draw him a lot, too."

Aya blinks. "Wow, so even Haruichi thinks my drawings are declarations of love."

Haruichi only gives her a sad smile. "Well, I'm very sorry for mistaking you for—"

Aya cuts him off with a giggle. No one can really get past this guy when it comes to his brother. She manages to hold an index finger up to her lips. "Ssssh. Just keep it down, Haruichi."

He then almost blinds her with a smile brighter than the sunshine piercing through the school windows. "Wow. So I’m right?”

Aya nods.

Haruichi chuckles. “That's a relief. I uh, kinda don't want anyone else to be my older sister."

"Older… sister…" Aya repeats, inwardly gasping as she remembers why they are having this conversation in the first place.

"So… about my question…"

"Uh, well, it's up to you!  'Neesan' is sweet, but 'Aneki' is cool. It all depends on how you see me as an… older sister."

Haruichi's smile grows wider as he nods, oblivious to her racing thoughts. "Okay, I'll think about it. See you later!"

Aya watches the boy run excitedly to his class, his pink hair matching the blush on her cheeks. Of course Haruichi would think like that. If your sibling gets a significant other, you'd have to treat them like your own sibling too, right? She chuckles helplessly to herself. These brothers act fast…

"Your Kominato is right here, not over there," a voice suddenly speaks in her ear.

Aya gasps, feeling her heart on her throat. She turns to see the only other pink-haired student smirking down at her.

"What? Being called 'oneesan' sounds so appealing to you?"

“…How did you know that’s what we’re talking about?”

“I just figured he’d ask that, now that he knows.”

They also know each other too well. She straightens up to compose herself. And then she eyes him suspiciously. She wouldn't be surprised if Ryousuke had been going around telling everyone about their relationship. After all, he is the embodiment of his seemingly-favorite color – the color of jealousy. Oh. What if he likes yellow exactly because of that? "Aside from your brother, have you already told anyone in school about… us?"

Ryousuke slightly frowns in confusion. "No."

Her jaw drops open. "But you told your parents already?"

"I don't see anything wrong with that," Ryousuke nonchalantly replies with a shrug.

"But… but it's too early! And it's usually the other way around! Your friends first before your parents."

"And where did you even get that idea? From shoujo manga?"

She pouts. "You should've at least let me know first."

Ryousuke smiles apologetically. "Alright, I'm sorry. But what's done is done. My mom was actually very happy about it. She would’ve suggested I introduce you to her already if I didn’t cut the call early."

“She would do that?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her. But we don’t have to go back to Kanagawa until after Nationals, right? So don’t think about that for now.” He then takes her school bag from her. "Here, I'll walk you to class."

"Oi, Ryousuke!" Isashiki Jun jogs up to the boy, with Masuko trailing behind him. But his grin vanishes when he spots Aya. He then turns to his friend with a reprimanding scowl. "Hey now, aren't you too old to go this far?"

"Huh?"

"I know you two are always at odds with each other, but if you're going to get physical now, it's time to stop."

"Uga!" Masuko says in agreement.

"What the heck are you talking about?" Ryousuke asks, growing irritated.

Aya looks back and forth between them, and then at the second- and third-years whispering and giving her and Ryousuke odd looks as they pass by. Are people still under the impression that we'd fight whenever we meet? Aya internally smirks. That's good, then. "I appreciate the concern, Isashiki-san, Masuko-san," she says as she pries her bag from Ryousuke's hand. "But Kominato-san isn't bullying me! He's just turning over a new leaf and attempting a rare act of kindness."

"What?" Ryousuke now turns to her in disbelief.

And that's when Aya realizes she’d just made a grave mistake. She gulps, and then manages to smile. "Anyway, thank you for the offer, Kominato-san!" She bows quickly before backing up towards the nearby stairs. "But I can manage this! I-I'll get going now!" She then dashes up the steps and into 2-B's room.

"About time the princess arrived~" Miyuki grabs his energy drink from her hands when she approaches.

As usual, Kuramochi has been sitting at her desk to talk to Miyuki, so he stands up to give Aya her rightful space. But not without sparing the panting girl a curious look. "Have you been running? There's still plenty of time before the first class."

She slumps in her seat. "Oh, he is going to kill me."

"Who? Ryou-san?"

Aya groans. “Yes.”

Kuramochi grins teasingly. "But haven't you two been lovey-dovey lately? Because you're apparently his girlfriend now?"

"I'm serious, Kuramochi."

The boy loses his smile. "Oh, you really are. What happened?"

Miyuki, on the other hand, laughs as he opens his canned drink. "Congratulations, Aya!" She pats her back quite harshly. "You're his girlfriend, though, so maybe he'd go easy on you."

"Hey, Miyuki!" Kuramochi warns as the brunette drinks. "This isn't the time!"

Miyuki then almost spits out his drink and makes a disgusted face. He taps the girl's shoulder with the can. "Oi, Aya. This has gotten warm now."

Aya grits her teeth and grabs the can. "I am never buying you a drink again, Bakazuya."

 Someone knocks on the Art Club's door later that day.

The third-year club president opens it. "Kominato-kun?" She looks behind her before subtly blocking Ryousuke's view of the room. "What brings you here?"

"I came for Aya. Is she still in there?"

"Did he just call her by first name?" another member runs up to the door with a huge grin on her face.

The club president ignores her and instead eyes Ryousuke suspiciously. "Makoto-chan? Why are you looking for her? What did she do this time?"

"I'm supposed to pick her up and walk her home."

Collective gasps are heard from inside the usually quiet room.

"I knew it!" someone shouts. "You really are a thing!"

"Oh?" Ryousuke tries to look behind the (taller) girl still blocking the door. "So she hasn't told even the club she hides in." Even if she’s the one who said I should’ve told my friends first.

"She's pretty secretive," the club president says, shrugging.

"I guess that's why she chose this club." Ryousuke gives an innocent smile. "If, for some reason, I’m not allowed to enter, then can you just get her for me?"

She laughs. "Nah, come on in. I guess she should be punished for keeping such juicy news from us." She then steps aside to open the door wider, revealing the back of the room.

The art club has apparently been using the back wall as a place to hang up their members’ framed artworks. And the first thing Ryousuke notices is Aya's famous drawing of his double play from a game one year ago, hung in the middle of it all. And in every row, more drawings of him almost outnumber the other club members’ work.

"She's over here!"

Ryousuke turns around to see a member waving at him from the center of the room.

The tables and chairs have been pushed aside to create a large space, where the club members are hunched over an unfinished banner. And there she is, the only passed out person on the floor.

"Senpai!" A first-year sitting beside Aya pokes her cheek. "It's time to pay for your sins."

Aya merely flicks the hand away and stays asleep. With the amount of commotion around her, it has to be considered amazing.

Ryousuke almost smiles fondly. He kneels beside her to gently shake her shoulder.

It’s only then that she opens her eyes. A small, confused frown mars her peaceful expression. "Ryou?"

Ignoring the sudden skip in his heartbeat, Ryousuke carefully pulls her up by the arm. "What are you doing down there? Are you that sleep-deprived?"

Aya successfully sits up with his help, but her eyes close again and she falls forward, holding onto his arm and laying her head on his shoulder.

It is important to note that Ryousuke is willing himself not to pull her closer, nor to even blush.  

She yawns as she replies, "I'm doing the good luck banner for Nationals. I'm supposed to be an assistant like the rest of the juniors, but the seniors assigned me to lead the project because of my apparent attachment to the team. Don't you think that's unfair? I just accepted a new batch of commissions the other day!"

Still trying to keep his calm, he smirks. "This side of you is adorable, Aya, but I don't think you should be saying all that in front of them."

"Them?" Aya repeats. She opens her eyes again and lifts her head to see the club members watching. Aya then immediately moves away. "W-what are you doing here, Kominato-san?"

She barely witnesses Ryousuke's smile turn upside down before two club members squeal and jump on her.

 "You don't need to be so stressed," Ryousuke says as they walk out of the school doors, her bag in his hand. 

"I just complained about my seniors in front of their faces. How can I not be stressed?"

"Ah, so that's what you're worried about."

Aya looks at him. "What else is there?"

"Are you being bullied, Aya? I already know that you like to draw me, but I'd think they're making fun of you by framing and hanging all those up."

"I-I just like to draw you…" Aya gasps. "Oh no, you saw all that too." She whines as she covers her face with her hands. Her voice muffled, she continues, "Now you know how much I like you."

Ryousuke's face immediately warms up. "Wha-"

"You're going to call me a stalker again," Aya adds in a softer and more worried tone, her hands moving to now only cover her red cheeks. Yet she stays oblivious to the boy's reaction.

Secretly sighing in relief, Ryousuke clears his throat to compose himself. "No, I won't. I promised I wouldn't call you that anymore, didn't I?" And then he starts walking again. "Because I do know we've agreed to go by first names."

Aya drops her hands and stares at him.

The afternoon sunlight hits his toned back, bathing him in the color of betrayal. Noticing she hasn't caught up, he pauses to look over his shoulder. "Hey, come on."

Aya hurries to his side, fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. A yellow card. It's only been more than a week and I already caused a yellow card.

They continue walking in silence. The quiet street with only a few people passing by amplifies her unease.

"Hey," Ryousuke finally says, "sorry, that's out of line. Maybe you just aren't used to it yet. So it's okay. I won't force you."

"Is it really okay? I think it was really rude of me to just… drop you."

"Well… yeah."

Aya wrings her hands together. "I'm sorry too."

"It’s kind of my fault, too. I guess I am going about this too fast."

"Hmm, it's not exactly that. It did surprise me, but I think it's sweet that you and even Haruichi are already thinking of me as family."

"Then what's up?"

"I think I just… want to stay low-key? You saw how my clubmates reacted. I don't want everyone else suddenly cooing at me and at the development in our relationship."

Ryousuke looks back down at her. "So that's why."

Aya nods, smiling nervously up at him.

That makes him smile reassuringly. "Okay. I can live with that." 

"Thank you."

He then smirks. "Besides, you'll be the first one to slip up anyway."

Aya groans. "Oh, I already kind of did with Kazuya and Mochi, and now they won't let me live it down."

"'Mochi?'"

"Huh?"

"Who is that?"

"Uh, your partner in the field? Seidou's shortstop, Kuramochi? Oh my god, does no one else call him that?"

"Hehh?" he says in his characteristic teasing tone even as he turns away from her. "A nickname." His hand starts to ball into a fist. "To think you insist on being formal with me but have nicknames for other guys."

Aya giggles before grabbing his hand, pulling them both to a stop. "Ryou."

“Now you call me that?”

Aya opens his fist to intertwine her smaller hand into his. And then she brings their joined hands to her lips to lightly kiss each of his knuckles.

Ryousuke freezes, his own lips parting open.

"Don't be jealous, please? Just think of it like this. Since we're laying low for a while, I'll call you 'Ryou' when it's just the two of us." She steps closer to him to look into his eyes. "Isn't that more intimate?"

He gulps and looks away. "Just drop his nickname."

"Permanently? But he's one of my best friends."

Ryousuke sighs, looking back down at her. "Then at least when you talk about him to me." Not like you should even be, though.

"Okay." She stands up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Are we good now?"

Ryousuke feels like his soul had flown out of his body. He takes a deep breath to calm down, and then touches his forehead with hers. “You know, you missed.”

Aya pushes back from him with a laugh. “And you know what? I’m finally here!” She takes her bag from him and walks backwards to her apartment building's entrance. “Thanks for walking me home again, Ryou. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He could only chuckle in reply. The afternoon sunlight now falls on the side of his face, but this time, it makes him glow with joy.

"Ryousuke!" Isashiki's voice rings through the team's own mess hall the next day at breakfast.

"So loud in the morning," the pink-haired teen mutters, taking his seat at the seniors' usual table.

"You disappeared again after practice. Don't tell me you were out with your girlfriend!"

He picks his chopsticks up. "I was."

The place falls silent. A tray even falls to the floor.

"Th-that joke's old!" Jun replies. "It won't work on me anymore!"

He swallows his first bite. "Oh? But I'm not kidding this time."

Heads turn to the next best source of information: Kominato Haruichi.

The poor boy startles and looks to his brother for help. "A-Aniki…"

Ryousuke chuckles. "She wants to stay low-key, though. Maybe you're scaring her off, Jun?"

"Shut up! I won't believe it until I see it!"

He shrugs. "Suit yourself."

From the other table, Kuramochi asks, "But Ryou-san, won't your favorite artist get jealous?"

'Mochi.' Ryousuke had expected he'd be annoyed when he sees his underclassman, but now he realizes the nickname's a bit funny. He gives a strained smile to stifle a laugh. "Why would she be jealous of herself?"

"Who?" Jun asks.

"Just shut up." Ryousuke resumes eating, but continues to watch Aya's classmates from his peripheral.

Kuramochi laughs heartily as he nudges the bespectacled catcher sitting beside him. 

Miyuki loses his smile.

 Jealousy, Aya discovers, comes unexpectedly in different kinds.

She had heard that dating someone from the baseball team is hard because he'd have almost no time for you. And that being in a relationship with someone from a different grade often leads to clashes in schedule.

Now, Aya has to deal with both.

They can’t meet after morning practices. The boys have to freshen up before proceeding to morning classes, so the best interaction she and Ryousuke would have are discreet smiles whenever he would spot her watching outside the field. 

They can’t meet during lunch breaks. Recently, Miyuki has been ordering from her more often, and because that’s the only time she could sit down and talk with her cousin now, she stays and eats with him.

And during weekends, it’s either they are both studying for finals or Ryousuke has extra practice.

Aya would always have to wait for afternoon practice to end. It’s either she could be found sketching on a bench outside the practice field, or in her club room every other day when the art club is scheduled to meet. Then, they would take a detour to non-crowded streets on the way to Aya's apartment building, just to avoid getting seen by anyone from school as they hold hands or simply walk closer than normal friends would.

This has gone on for two weeks.

We’re nearing a month into this relationship now. Aya presses closer to Field A’s fence. I did say I want him to focus on Nationals, but now… She heaves a deep sigh to temporarily get rid of her thoughts and refocus on the morning practice. 

At the moment, Haruichi is on a roll in a batting cage while his older brother watches.

The competition for the jersey numbers is still fierce, especially with the second baseman brothers. Haruichi's progressive skills make him a likely candidate for the roster. But as long as Ryousuke is in the team, Haruichi couldn’t play unless Ryousuke gets subbed out. And would Ryousuke even allow that?  

But looking at her boyfriend's back, Aya could sense a faint yellow aura. The color of caution, of warning signs. Even if he hides it well, she knows Ryousuke is threatened by his prodigy brother.

Alas, Ryousuke picks up his bat to head towards another batting cage. But not without stopping in his tracks to look straight at Aya.

Again. He knows I've been here all this time. This has been happening more often now.

Ryousuke then breaks into a grin.

It's like… a sunflower drawn to his sun. Feeling her cheeks warm up, Aya smiles back and gives a shy wave.

Ryousuke nods as a silent morning greeting before continuing on his way.

Time may be Aya's enemy right now, but she has to admit that these limited moments they share, no matter how small, leaves her glowing with happiness that's as bright as the summer days. 

The next day, the students receive the results of their final exams.

“As expected!” Aya almost shoves her graded papers in Miyuki’s face. “You can never score higher than me. So I still won’t make your lunch for free!”

Miyuki sighs defeatedly. “Aren’t creative people supposed to be creative only?”

Aya gasps. “Then sporty people should only be sporty too!” She smirks. “Then again, you suck at other sports besides baseball, so I can’t really call you a sports guy.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m surprised, Aya,” Kuramochi says with a teasing grin. He distributes among their trio the lunchboxes Aya had made for them. “Having a boyfriend aside from being busy with your commissions still doesn’t stop you?”

Aya suddenly turns back to her desk to put her papers back. She mutters, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, Kuramochi,” Miyuki says quietly, opening his lunchbox. “She doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kuramochi scoffs. “Maybe if you let her go on lunch dates every once in a while…”

Aya freezes and looks up at her cousin.

Miyuki gives their friend a deadpan stare.

“Wow, Kazuya,” Aya says. She smiles mischievously. “So that’s what this is all about.”

He turns to his food and picks up his chopsticks. “No. I just wanted to have good meals this season.”

“Sure you do~”

He looks up at her. “What am I keeping you here for, Aya? You don’t have someone else to meet during lunch, do you? You said you don’t have a boyfriend, right?”

Kuramochi nudges his arm. “Hey.”

Aya blinks. “R-right. Yeah. I don’t have one.” She lightly hits Kuramochi’s arm. “Stop making issues.”

Kuramochi rolls his eyes. “You two really are a family.”

 “You got the no. 4 jersey!”

“Yeah.”

“And I got the highest test results in our class!”

“Really? Congrats.”

“And Haruichi got included in the roster! What’s his jersey number?”

“…19.”

Aya squeals. “This is really a good day!” And then she sighs. “Except for Kazuya being too weird again.”

Ryousuke stifles his own sigh. “Really? I haven’t heard about this yet.”

She purses her lips. “Did you tell him something?”

“No. We don’t really talk outside of practice.”

“It’s just… whenever Mo-" she clears her throat as Ryousuke lightly scoffs, "whenever Kuramochi would start teasing me about having a boyfriend, Kazuya would suddenly get annoyed. He’s not even subtle about it, which means he must be really pissed. And I don’t understand because he used to always tease me about you! But now that we’re actually a couple…"

Ryousuke hums in thought. “I didn’t take him to be the overprotective type.”

“Overprotective?” Aya frowns. “But he already knows you, so what is there to be fussy about? Would you be the same if Haruichi gets into a relationship?” 

"I wonder. But it's not like that's on his mind right now, though."

"Yeah, because you could totally tell." And then she stops walking. “Wait, is this a new detour? I think this is the opposite way from my apartment.”

“Yeah, it is. I’m not taking you home yet.” 

Aya gasps in fake horror. “Is this what Kazuya is protecting me from?”

Ryousuke chuckles before taking her hand as they round the corner. “If he doesn’t want you to be happy, then I guess it is.” 

They stop in front of a café Aya had once mentioned wanting to visit. 

Now, Aya gasps in actual shock. “Ryou…”

“It’s a weekday so I don’t want us to be out late, but we’ve been together for one month now. I at least want to celebrate that.”

She tears her gaze away from the establishment and up towards Ryousuke. “You remembered.”

“Of course I would.” He tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “Especially since you’ve been really pouty these past few days. Are you sure you still want to keep this a secret? Because this prevents you from spending all your free time with me, so now you’re missing me too much.”

Aya feels her cheeks warm up, though she’s not sure if it’s out of embarrassment for being too obvious, or because she suddenly finds that cockiness… attractive.

He gestures with his head towards the door. “Shall we?”

Aya nods. “O-okay.”

As Ryousuke leads them inside, only one thought crosses his mind. Now, please stop talking about other guys when we’re together.

 Today is the last day of school for students without club activities this summer. It is also the day after Seidou had triumphed over Maimon West in their first qualifying match.

The sun shines bright through the windows, seemingly giving spotlight to the third-year starters - Yuuki Tetsuya, Masuko Tooru, Isashiki Jun, and Kominato Ryousuke - as they walk through the hallways. Their fellow third-years crowd around them, congratulating them and promising to watch the next games.

Aya smiles proudly. Aside from the resounding cheers from upstairs, she had also spotted freshmen cheerleaders peeking into Class 1-B earlier, most likely spying on the two of the three first-year players yesterday. 

This game had not only showcased Seidou’s powerful batting lineup, but also officially debuted the first-year players - Furuya Satoru, Sawamura Eijun, and of course, Kominato Haruichi. 

If they get fangirls, that would mean more commission requests, right? 

But then she reaches a classroom that apparently has another kind of commotion.

Kuramochi is once again shouting at Miyuki's face as he holds the catcher by the collar, while Miyuki only laughs off everything the enraged boy says.

"They're fighting again?” a female classmate asks. “But they're always together."

"They don't have any friends," another replies.

"They have Makoto-san, though," a third classmate adds, following it with a giggle.

"I can hear you, you know," Aya says from the doorway.

"Oh!" the same classmate exclaims, and then smiles sheepishly. "Good morning, Makoto-san! Do you think you could break them up again?"

Aya sighs. This is certainly a sad reputation. She marches up to the two. "Hey, Mochi! I see you’re still overflowing with adrenaline from yesterday’s game."

The boys look at her in sync.

"But I need to take my seat now, so please…?"

"Tch." Kuramochi's frown stays, but he lets go and walks away without another word.

"What is it this time?" Aya asks, hanging her bag on the hook at her desk. 

"It's nothing," Miyuki answers with a chuckle, fixing his uniform.

Aya sits down sideways and props an arm on her backrest to keep slightly facing him. "Sure it is. Good thing you have me, the saving grace of this trio of loners."

"I don't know, Aya." Miyuki props his chin on his hand as he leans forward on his desk. "Are you sure you're still one?"

Aya raises a brow. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Miyuki heaves a big sigh and sits back on his chair. "You're really gonna keep that act up, huh?"

“Oh, Kazuya. You’re just like me. You're in denial.” 

“Of what?”

“Of being jealous of someone taking your cousin’s time away from you. Not like there’s much to begin with, though.”

“So you’re basically admitting.”

Aya shrugs. “No point in lying to you now, so you might as well come clean too.” She smirks.

Just then, the bell rings. The students start to move back to their desks.

Miyuki smirks back at her. “Whaaat? I can’t hear you over the bell!”

Aya rolls her eyes before sitting properly, just as the teacher enters the room.

 Seidou plays against Murata East the next day, and it ends as another called game after Captain Yuuki hits a homerun.

Outside, Aya waits among the crowd to catch a glimpse of the team exiting the stadium.

“Miyuki-kun~!” a group of girls calls out when the famous catcher comes into view.

Aya does her best not to cringe. She understands why he has so many fangirls, but it just feels weird to hear people gush over someone she knows not just by looks, but as a person - insecurities, quirks, habits that may not be easily understood by others.

Is this what Kazuya feels now when he thinks about me and Ryou?   

The coach walks over to the team to give them instructions before they watch the next game.

But since Aya did not buy tickets for that, she has to leave ahead of them. As soon as she starts to walk away, her phone vibrates, so she stops to pull it out of her uniform skirt's pocket.

It’s our second game already and I still don’t hear you calling out for me? Isn’t Aya supposed to be my biggest fan?

She looks back at the team to see Ryousuke staring at her from afar with an obvious smirk. She types back: Am I supposed to? It’s enough that I came to watch!

Ryousuke chuckles when he sees the message, and then looks back up to wave goodbye to her. 

Of course, some of his teammates see that. But before they could spot her and connect the dots, Aya turns around and speed-walks toward the bus that would take her back to the school.

 With classes finally out of the way, Aya now has more time to watch practices. But even if Seidou had two practice days before their match against Akikawa Academy, Aya could only watch on the second day, because the media had hounded Field A the day before to cover Seidou first.

However, instead of practicing, everyone is lining up in front of the coach. 

Aya walks closer to the fence.

“To prepare for the game tomorrow,” Coach Kataoka says, “we’re wrapping up practice.”

Aya almost drops her sketchbook. So much for waking up early.

The coach finishes his instructions and dismisses the boys.

Aya remains standing there, her eyes trailing her boyfriend who is picking up his equipment from the dugout. Should I ask Ryou to eat lunch with me? But what if he has plans?

Ryousuke goes back out in the field, but stops a few ways away from his friends. “Haruichi.” 

She gasps. Did he just…?

“Join me when I hit off the tee later,” Ryousuke continues.

The younger Kominato gasps. 

Even his friends - Masuko, Yuuki, Isashiki, and Kuramochi - stop talking among themselves to watch them.

“Are you sure I’m good enough?” Haruichi asks.

Ryousuke chuckles. “What are you saying? You can hit, too. So, later!”

Now, if Ryousuke's friends are fondly dumbfounded, Aya squeals and jumps in giddiness. Now this makes it worth waking up early.

 “You finally talked to him!” 

“To who?”

“To Haruichi!”

“Of course I talk to him. He’s my brother.”

Aya nudges his arm. “You know what I mean! You talked to him in front of the others! It’s so cute.”

“Shut up.” Ryousuke takes another bite of his lunch.

Aya giggles. “I really like this shy side of yours, Ryou. It's so adorable.”

Ryousuke almost coughs up a lung. 

“Whoa, are you okay?”

“Stop attacking me like that!” He coughs harder.

Aya hands him his water bottle, biting her lip to avoid laughing.

“You always do this," he says when he calms down. "Maybe you need to pay for it.”

“This better not be…”

Ryousuke smirks. “Cheer for me tomorrow.”

“Ryou!”

“Aren't you inspired by me? I apparently overcame my hypothetical shyness to talk to Haruichi in front of the team.”

"Nope." Aya purses her lips, and then instantly brightens up. “But I do know how to pay you back.”

“And how…” Ryousuke trails off as Aya suddenly moves closer to him.

She raises a hand to cup one side of his face. She leans in, making sure to lock eyes with him. Her thumb brushes his lower lip slowly... until she wipes off a stray rice grain. And then she merely pecks his cheek before moving away so fast. 

Ryousuke’s mouth now hangs open.

“You had something on your face. I didn’t want you to go back to the field with it.”

“Why do you keep missing?” Ryousuke whispers, turning away to hide a smile.

 Unlike in practice games, more and more people are now finding time in their summer schedule to attend the increasingly intense official games.

Bottom of the first inning, one out. With Kuramochi failing to get on base, Ryousuke steps up for his first at-bat against Akikawa’s clockwork pitcher, Shunshin You.

"Ryou-san!"

Unlike in practice games, Ryousuke's fangirls are now also here. Closer to Aya. Sitting around Aya.

She has always been aware of them, and it definitely isn’t her first time to hear them cheer him on. But why does it make her feel unpleasant now? Besides, it’s the team’s third game already, and Ryousuke has been playing very well. It’s understandable that he would gain more support.

"Ryousuke-san!"

Yet a little spark in her stomach starts up and threatens to grow.

"If you're so annoyed with it," her art club senior, who had come to watch the game too, leans on her shoulder to whisper, "why don't you just publicly lay your claim on him?"

Aya keeps her eyes on the field. "That's pretty vulgar, senpai." She clears her throat. "And I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're not his only fan, Makoto-chan. He's amazing, and girls in our batch have always known that." The third-year lightly pinches Aya's cheek to make the younger girl look at her. "You can't blame them for calling him appropriately." 

Aya swats her hand away and sighs. "I'm going to get bullied for it."

"No way. You're the only masochist to develop romantic feelings for him."

"What?"

Her senior laughs. "Just go greet him outside. Today would be the best time, because we're finally out of our school uniforms. And nothing says 'cute girlfriend' than your look today."

Aya consciously touches her hair before looking down at her sleeveless yellow dress. Because the weather has reached 30° today, she had styled her hair into a braided ponytail and picked out the lightest dress she could find in her closet, not taking into account its knee-length frilly skirt. She shakes her head. "I just think it's unnecessary and childish…" she mutters, turning back to the game.

Ryousuke uses his signature strategy: rack up fouls to tire out the pitcher. The eighth pitch is thrown high, so Ryousuke does not swing anymore. Because surely it would be called a ball, which would give him a free pass to first base.

Except it isn't.

"Strike!" the umpire shouts just as the pink-haired batter steps forward.

“What?” Aya exclaims. "But how?"

"I think the umpire's impressed with the pitcher," her senior answers. "He does keep throwing into the catcher's mitt."

"No…" Aya frowns. "Is that why they call him 'clockwork?'"

Ryousuke remains standing there, disbelief clear in his stance.

“Hey, Makoto-chan.” Her senior pokes Aya's arm. “Is he seriously thinking of fighting the umpire?”

She gulps. “I – he can’t be, right?”

Alas, Ryousuke straightens up and walks back to the dugout.

To beat Akikawa's clockwork pitcher, Kuramochi's speed and Ryousuke's strategic batting would be keys to put pressure on him. But now it had failed right on the first try. And that unlucky streak only continues.

Isashiki got on base, and Yuuki was able to hit the baseball far. Their left fielder desperately goes after it, only to fall flat on his face… but the ball lands straight into his glove.

A miracle. Aya slumps her shoulders. If Akikawa continues to make lucky plays like this...

At the bottom of the third inning, the batting lineup goes back up to Kuramochi. But because Shunshin is also great at fielding, he prevents Kuramochi from even stepping on first base.

And now, Ryousuke is back in the batter's box. He does not swing at the first pitch, but…

"Strike!"

"Again?" Aya almost shouts. "But that was so close to outside!"

Shunshin throws the next pitch.

And apparently, it's a breaking ball that pushes Ryousuke to swing and hit the baseball… straight back to the pitcher. A deciding out to end the third inning.

Once again, Ryousuke remains standing in place. He now glares at Shunshin, who stares him back down.

“Makoto-chan,” her senior says, “your boyfriend’s seriously pissed today.”

Aya crosses her arms. “Well, who wouldn’t be? That clockwork pitcher has gotten the umpire on his side! Ryou can’t even bully him now!”

The third-year raises her eyebrow in amusement. "Wow, I guess that makes you compatible."

The gloom finally lifts at the fourth inning when Coach Kataoka switches Furuya with the southpaw first-year, Sawamura (though it had still caused quite a scene when Furuya refused to give him the ball at first), because his presence ignites a fire in the team. After he gets the last out of the inning, Seidou starts the fifth with the cleanup batters, where Miyuki takes Isashiki and Yuuki home and finally ties the game. Defense has become sharper too because he is pitching with confidence.

But the batting lineup goes back to Kuramochi, and he strikes out. Ryousuke hits the baseball, but it goes straight to a fielder's glove once more, ending the fifth inning.

“Mochi… Ryou… what’s happening?” Aya bites her nails in worry.

The game then enters a standstill as both teams keep failing to score a run that would break the tie. That is, until the bottom of the seventh inning.

"Seidou High School has called for a substitution," the announcer says.

Aya gasps as she spots the new jersey number in the on-deck circle.

"Replacing Number 8, Sakai-kun: pinch hitter, Kominato Haruichi-kun!"

Aya immediately stands in her seat and shouts, “Let’s go, Haruichi!”

Her senior pulls her to sit back down. “How could you be so enthusiastic over your boyfriend’s brother than for your boyfriend himself?”

“Are you kidding me? Ryou is most likely as proud as I am right now!” She points to the younger Kominato taking his position. “Just watch.”

The thing with Haruichi is that pitchers tend to get haughty when they see a small boy using a wooden bat and stepping over the plate. What they don't know is that they are walking right into the bait.

Like today, for example. To attempt to intimidate him, Shunshin throws an inside pitch to Haruichi’s knees.

And like usual, Haruichi steps in just as the ball is released. And then he expertly hits it far towards left field. Taking advantage of the fielders’ bewilderment, Haruichi reaches first base and raises his arm for a fist pump as a blush overtakes his cheeks.

Cue Haruichi’s fangirls screaming over it. Including a certain brunette.

Sawamura, who has a history of not hitting any pitch at all, loudly steps into the field next. But he silently and professionally bunts to advance Haruichi to second base. And the crowd gets amusingly amazed.

“Wow! Perfect!”

“Why is he only good at bunts?”

“Nice one, Bunt Master!”

And now, Kuramochi is back in the batter's box.

The atmosphere grows tense as the Seidou bleachers and dugout cheer him on.

Aya fidgets with her hands as she mutters, "Fourth chance, Mochi. Please don't get shut down again."

Shunshin throws the first pitch, and Kuramochi smashes it to the right. Without wasting any time, he uses his cheetah legs to take him to first base.

The Akikawa fielder snatches the ball from the ground and gets ready to throw to first base. But Akikawa has run out of miracle plays.

"Oh, his hand slipped!"

"Akikawa made an error!"

And Kuramochi steps on the white bag.

“Finally, Mochi!” Aya shouts along with the wild crowd. She then clutches her senior's arm. "We're on a roll! We totally shook Akikawa up!"

Her senior chuckles. "Yeah, and now—"

"And now Ryou's up to bat!" Aya interrupts with a giggle before looking back at the field, her eyes zooming in to her boyfriend.

Just then, even without a lead, Kuramochi takes off again. Haruichi runs too, and Seidou takes second and third base.

Aya suddenly pauses, her eyes flitting from Ryousuke standing readily in the batter's box to Haruichi crouching on third. She gasps. "Oh my god!"

"Yeah," her senior says, "Kuramochi's taking revenge!" 

"The brothers!"

"What?" 

"The brothers are playing in the same field! In an official game!" Aya inches forward right then, drowning out her senior’s response as she focuses back on the field.

As soon as Shunshin moves to pitch, Kuramochi starts to run again, and Ryousuke changes his grip on his bat for a squeeze play.

In that split second, the Clockwork pitcher throws the baseball outside the strike zone.

But at this point, Ryousuke has been backed into a corner by Shunshin and the umpire enough. He would not give this up now. In his race against the catcher to get to the ball first, Ryousuke lands on his side, but successfully taps the ball away from home plate. And in an instant, he is up and running towards first base.

And Haruichi is right behind him to score a run for Seidou!

The ball rolls toward the mound, and Shunshin quickly picks it up. He throws it to first base to stop the older Kominato, not noticing Kuramochi already on third base and sneakily racing towards home plate.

But it's too late. The ball is in the air just as Akikawa desperately shouts over each other.

The first baseman catches the ball and throws it to home just as Kuramochi slides in.

"Safe!" the umpire shouts.

The crowd goes wild.

"Wow, two runs!"

"That's some super fast sliding!"

"His speed is like cheating!"

Aya, meanwhile, covers her mouth as if she could be heard among the crowd. Because her heart continues to beat so fast as her eyes continue to follow Ryousuke still advancing in the field.

The first baseman recovers from the shock to call out to their catcher still holding the ball.

But Ryousuke already reaches second base. 

"Nice run!"

“Nice run, Ryou!” Aya screams along in celebration, small tears of joy at the corners of her eyes. 

The Kominato brothers and Kuramochi combo starts an onslaught. Since then, Seidou continues to shut Akikawa down, scoring 3 more runs in the inning. Kawakami gets sent out to close the last two innings, and he does not allow Akikawa any more runs. 

With a score of 7-2, Seidou advances to the quarterfinal.

 The sun is shining brighter now, bathing the field with more light and warmth as the day approaches noon. It boosts Aya's happiness as she walks out of the bleachers along with the rest of the crowd.

"Oh, I still can't stop thinking about earlier!" a girl walking in front of Aya says, nudging her companion.

For some reason, this catches Aya's attention. She recognizes the two girls as Seidou students.

"Do you mean the seventh inning?" the other girl asks with a big grin.

Say no.

"Yes!"

The two friends squeal together. "Ryousuke-kun!"

And just like that, the spark in Aya's stomach reappears.

The girl in front continues, "The little brother and Kuramochi may have scored those runs, but they wouldn't have done it without him!"

The spark grows and spreads throughout her whole body, warming her up. She steps out of the stadium and meets the bright sunlight, but she knows it's not just the reason her eyes are stinging.

Yellow.

Ryousuke wears it like a brand.

Kazuya's aura spikes up in it quite often now.

And it's what she's currently coated in.

Jealousy because of people, as Aya had found out from those two, is the kind that is most irrational and all-consuming.

The kind of jealousy she never thought she would experience.

"Makoto-chan!"

The sudden shake on her shoulder makes Aya jump.

"Are you okay?" her senior asks. "I've been talking to you for a while now."

"S-sorry."

"Are we going back to the bus or do you want to wait for the team to come out?"

Refocusing on her surroundings, Aya sees Miyuki's fangirls right outside the stadium. They are getting ready to shout his name in an attempt to get his attention. To lay their claim…

"Woah, Makoto-chan!" her senior exclaims.

Aya drags her to the front of the crowd, right next to the noisy bunch.

"So I guess this answers my question. But why here?"

"I uh, want to see him right away…"

Just then, the names of the coach and the players ring out above the cheers and applause. 

The first set of players are exiting the stadium. Among them is Ryousuke, glowing with joy because of the victory. He is walking in between his friends, and as usual, is discreetly searching the crowd for her.

This is it. Aya's heart pounds. He would see me right away and I have to—

"MIYUKI-KUN!" One of the fangirls suddenly blocks her from view as their group starts to call out and wave frantically.

"Seriously?" Aya frowns as she watches Ryousuke pass by obliviously.

Her senior giggles. "Guess you don't have to try hard in hiding today… hey, where are you going?"

Aya weaves carefully, but with urgency, through the cheering crowd. Being short makes it hard for people to notice her – it’s  good for moving about, but it puts her at risk of getting elbowed in the face. Alas, she finds a free space in front again. 

Ryousuke finally spots her. He gives her a small smile before passing her by.

She suddenly hears giggles behind her, so she looks over her shoulder to find the two girls from earlier, as well as some schoolmates, looking at the players. This would be good. Aya takes a deep breath and calls out as loud as she could, "Ryou!"

The pink-haired third-year whirls around in shock.

Masuko, Isashiki, and even Yuuki who are walking with him also stop and turn, their eyes settling on the short brunette.

"Aya?" Ryousuke says cautiously.

She smiles brightly and waves.

His confused expression instantly turns into a happy grin. He then hurries back towards her. 

His friends stand still in shock, especially the usually loud Isashiki who now stares with his jaw hanging open. Meanwhile, their teammates coming up from behind them give Ryousuke a curious look. 

He finally stops in front of her. "Hey, Aya."

Seeing his excited smile, and the way he does not care at all about the people around them just to get to her, almost makes her swoon forward. She holds onto the long sleeve of his undershirt for balance. "I… I watched the game," she almost whispers.

Ryousuke chuckles. "Yes, I can see that."

She grins. "And I want to congratulate you! You were so amazing back there, especially when you caused the runs in the seventh inning!"

He chuckles again, now with a hint of embarrassment. "Don't say it like that. They got on base and I followed through."

"But still, you were very cool."

His grin grows wider. "Thank you, Aya." Then he drops his voice so that only the two of them can hear. "And it is a bit refreshing to be with you like this in public."

"Well…” She steps closer, enough to smell the mix of his natural scent and after-game sweat. She takes both of his hands in hers. "Maybe I don't want to keep it a secret anymore?"

"It's because she got jealous," someone suddenly comments beside her, breaking the moment.

They step away from each other, but do not drop their linked hands.

Recognizing Aya's club senior, Ryousuke asks, "What?"

"You've got fangirls, Kominato-kun."

"Ohhh."

Aya tugs at his hands to make him look back at her. "No, that's not it! Don't listen to her!"

"Of course, Aya!" Ryousuke lets go of one of her hands to pat her head. "I would only believe my girlfriend."

Her mouth hangs open.

Ryousuke now smirks, as if asking, Isn't that what you want to prove to them? "Anyway, I'll see you later. We have to watch the next game."

"Oh, right! Sorry."

"Don't mind that." He squeezes her hand. "This made my day better."

When Ryousuke finally reaches the bus, his fellow third-year teammates who are waiting for him outside greet him with teasing punches on the shoulder and pats on the back. Even Captain Yuuki gives him a thumbs-up sign. And Isashiki shouts in mock outrage when Ryousuke says something to him.

"Makoto-san, you're scary."

"I didn't know you had it in you!"

Aya turns around.

Ryousuke's fangirls are smiling at her.

"Congratulations! Though, everyone saw it coming."

"Yeah, it would have sucked if you two didn't end up together."

"And you two were not very good at hiding it, either!"

Aya is reeling from all the comments, but only manages to respond to the last one. "We aren't?"

Her senior pats her back. "What did I tell you?"

Aya sighs in relief. "Yeah, that felt good.” Her eyes then widen in realization, and she hides her face in her hands. "And embarrassing! I can't believe I just did that!" 

The fangirls coo at her, and her senior had to lead her to the bus that would take them back to Seidou.

On their way, Aya finally recovers enough to glance at the team's bus… just in time to see Miyuki watching her with a non-amused expression.

 Previous: Ryousuke and Aya

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

Love How You Hate Me - Sam x Reader

A/N: It’s late as fuck. But, hopefully this works soon. As usual, feedback is always incredible. I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Nightmares. Sexual tension. Nothing too wild.

Word Count: Roughly 3,200

“Her name was Esmeralda?” Dean asked through the mouth full of beef and bread. “Like the gypsy from Hunchback of Notre Dame?” Sam deadpanned his brother. “What?”

“Nothing.” Came the shamed sigh before the taller man leaned back in his chair. Refusing to indulge in his sibling's Disney craze.

“What else did he have?” Getting back to business, Dean turned back to you before chomping back into his burger.

“She was African American. Real pretty. He didn't pay her much mind, though. She was too wrapped up in our vic.” You stated from your perch on the small couch the motel carried. Looking over the notes in front of you. The cap of the pen tapped against your lower lip while you thought. Your blouse had been discarded to make up for the heat. Leaving you in just a white tank. “Doesn't fit the vampire mold. though. She was out in the daylight.”

“Maybe we're dealing with a bait girl.” Sam suggested, drawing your attention back to him. His long fingers carefully rolled the white sleeves up along his forearms. Too enticing for your sanity. Luckily, the greasy lip smacking from Dean tugged you back to reality.

“Maybe,” You shrugged, not convinced. “But, I don't think so. She's a dead end.”

“Why's that?” The younger brother's challenging tone only made you roll your eyes.

“Let's just call it a woman's intuition.” A wry smile only made his scowl deeper as he leaned over his own burger.

“Great.” Came the huff. “We're going on intuition, now.”

“Sam-”

“Don't worry about it, Dean.” You got to your feet slowly. Stretching so hard that the undershirt rode up. Noting the way the skin tingled at the contact from the hazel gaze. A gentle pop eased some of the stiffness from all the time crammed in the Impala's back seat. “He'll figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Yep, definitely defensive.

Your shirt and note pad were snatched up, “Good night, boys.” With that, you sauntered towards the door. Enjoying the way Sam's jaw ticked.

“Wait! No. Figure what out?” Came the demand, again. As if that rough tone would be enough to hold you. “Y/N!”

You pretended you didn't hear him. That his roar hadn't sent shivers down your spine. Your door was shut and locked. Just in case he decided to follow. Public attention be damned.

Instead, you seemed to luck out. If there was one word that could define Sam Winchester, it was intelligent. He'd piece it together sooner than later. Once his brain moved away from the need to kill, anyway.

Bait girls rarely spent longer than night pursing a target. The longest you'd ever known had been a week to end a personal grudge. Any longer drew attention to themselves. To the nests. Drawing in hunters. They'd be killed the moment things got too close.

Esmeralda had been around too long. Was still alive. There wasn't a chance she was the bait. You'd have bet your life on it.

He figure it out? Resisting texting the older Winchester was futile. Or is he still pissed?

Option two. Dean's answer tugged your lips up. He'll get to it, eventually. Get some rest, Vamp Queen. Busy day tomorrow.

Yes, sir.

Vampires had been the closest thing you could call to your specialty. It had been too easy to spot the bait. The fake smiles. Empty promises. Every trick you'd ever picked up being put to use. They'd drawn you in with it. Trying to save them from their holds. Sometimes successfully. Other times, not. Over the years, they became the focus of your attention.

Sam didn't have a clue about any of that, though. Treating you as though it was your first hunt. So unintentionally condescending that you couldn't stand him. What a joke.

Focusing on his presumed ideals about you wouldn't help you wind down. Instead, removed the tank and skirt. Replacing it was one of Dean's old undershirts. Not bothering to worry about anything else.

Exhaustion settled into your bones as you crawled on top of the covers. Forgetting to tug them free from the mattress. The sun was barely set, but that didn't matter. Your eyes drifted shut.

–

Your eyes stared into his. Daring him to make the first move. When he didn't, you rolled your eyes. “You're pathetic, Winchester.”

Bending to put down your glass, you prepared to leave. Sam couldn't have that. His arm grabbed your bicep. Halting you in one swift motion. You didn't turn to him right away. Instead, you took a deep, steadying breath. The moment your glare met his hard gaze, he uttered a single command. “Sit down.”

Soft knocking made Sam's head jerk towards the door. His eyes opened, forcing the dream to tug away. Sure enough, it sounded again past the snoring emitting from Dean. With a groan, he kicked out of the blankets. Rubbing at his face with the back of his hand as he moved to answer it.

“Y/N?” He groggily stared at your form as you shifted at the door. You hadn't bothered to dress. Arms wrapped around your torso, you stood head bowed. “What's going on? It's...four am.”

“I...” You paused, trying to compose yourself. Clearing the lump in your throat. “Can you get Dean?” Despite the attempt to seem well put together, your voice shook. A wince flashed across your face at the sound of it before you gave up. “Please?” It was such a simple word. Earlier it would have made all the blood in his body rush south. But, in that moment, it made his stomach churn. Something was wrong. You sounded...broken. “Sam, please...”

Nothing else could leave your lips. It had been meant as a simple request. But, it was so much more. You needed his cooperation in that moment.

And he gave it without a fight, “I'll get him.”

You nodded your thanks, but didn't say anything else. Instead, you stood defeated. Shaking in the low light of the hallway. Then, it clicked in his sleep fogged brain.

“Sometimes, I have rough nights. Remember things from my past...” Your voice echoed through his mind. His head turned back to the door. Almost tempted to take his brother's place. With a shake of his head, the thoughts were gone.

“Dean,” Sam slammed his hand down on his brother's leg. Instantly, the older brother jerked in response. Reaching for his gun out of instinct, until he realized just who had connected with him.

“Dude, what?” The older sibling bit out. His eyes in slits, yet. They closed for a moment after he caught sight of the alarm. Again, Sam glanced back at the door. Deliberating on what his best option was.

“Y/N...She's at the door. I think … I think she's having one...one of her nights.” The deep green eyes snapped open at that one. “She needs you, man.”

Dean didn't hesitate. Jumping to his feet in an instant. As he pulled on his jeans, he looked at his younger sibling. “How do you know about those?”

“It's not important.” Sam shrugged out, his hand going through his hair. Wondering if you were so bad off that you'd still be sitting in the hallway. He dropped back to his bed instead of going to check.

“Earlier...You said you only knew one important thing about her-”

“Just, go get her out of the hall, Dean. She's not wearing any clothes.” The curt statement didn't make the suspicion leave the older sibling. But, he had bigger things to worry about. You.

“Hey,” Dean's voice was amazingly gentle as he opened the door enough to slip out. “You need to talk?” Sam heard a sniff, but couldn't make out anything else. He couldn't picture your face coated in tears. You always got defiant. If not stubborn, you didn't carry more than a blank slate. Never sad. Never scared. Not around him. Even when he'd seen you sneak into his brother's room, you seemed well held together. But, in that moment, you'd been more fragile than he'd ever thought you could be. “No? I'll talk then. You listen. Okay, sweetheart?”

“Okay.” It was weak, but you'd managed it. “I'm sorry...” A hallow crack escaped. “I...I...I know...I know this has to...to be irritating-”

“Don't.” His brother insisted with just a hint of steel. “It's not your fault. None of it is.” Curiosity spiked at those words. “Just take a breath, Y/N...” You must have done what he'd said. “Let's go... Let Sam get some sleep.”

Flashbacks from his childhood assaulted Sam. When he'd have nightmares, his brother had always been there. Had talked him through them. Around them. Whatever he needed in that moment. Did anytime he caught them. Even if his little brother was all grown up.

It was Dean's way of filling the gap their mother had left behind when she'd been killed by Azazel. His way of making up for the lack of real parenting they'd received from John Winchester. A chance to remain the protector.

Sam hadn't connected the dots until he witnessed it up close and personal. Dean wasn't in love with you. Sure as hell wasn't fucking you. No, he was taking you under his wing. Just like he'd done with Sam when he had been nothing more than a child himself.

The door shut quietly, as if Dean had already expected Sam to be out cold. Too uninterested to listen in. In reality, Sam sat staring at the door through the darkness. Wondering what had been bad enough to make you beg him while being fully conscious...

–

You'd moved on as if that night had never happened. As if Sam hadn't seen your weakened state. That infuriating blank mask back in place.

The only thing you'd done to acknowledge it had ever happened was a muttered thank you, a light squeeze of his bicep, and a small- shy- smile before you'd moved on. He would have thought he'd imagined it all- including your thanks- if it wasn't for the way Dean hovered over you. Determined to be there whenever you needed him. It didn't seem to phase you the way the older brother leered over you protectively. Instead, you threw yourself into the hunt with vigor.

You'd been the one who located the nest. Figured out that it was a group of females that only fed on males. Even managing to crack a joke over the whole new meaning to the words 'man eater'. You'd managed to be the one who had identified how many members there were, and they're most active period. Always three steps ahead of Sam when it came to the case. He had to wonder if you were truly sleeping at all.

There was a piece of his pride that had been destroyed on your quest for violence. But the rest of him? It was impressed. He knew you were book smart when it came to hunting. There'd been too many times you'd found the answers they'd needed at the bunker before he had a chance to. But, this went so much deeper than that. You'd been on a roll with the entire thing.

The only problem? He'd yet to see you fight. And damn if it didn't twist his gut to think of the consequences.

The impala was parked a few blocks from the building the vampires were housed in- a small, abandoned hospital that had closed sometime back in the early 1900s. Dean had taken care to hide the muscle car in a small clearing in the forest. No one from the road, or the nest, would have any clue that there was an ambush on the way.

You were in jeans and a simple black baseball shirt. Velcro straps wrapped around your thighs and attached to your belt before your blades were set in. Already coated in the ashes of saffron, skunk cabbage, and trillium to hide your scent. The third blade in your hand.

“What?” Hazel eyes were burning into your skin as you got ready. Sam didn't bother over doing it. Leaning against the Impala, simply watching you.

“Tomb raider fan?” His lip quirked lightly. Drawing a twitch to your eye. It was easier to tease than to worry.

“I'm protecting myself.” You retorted, bending to make sure the strap was secure. Turning away as if he didn't set your nerves on edge all decked out in a brown plaid that fit a tad too snugly. “We're dealing with a big nest.” The small machete was spun in your fingers to move it away from your skin as you straightened back to your full height. “I refuse to be a victim.” The unspoken again hung in the air. His eyes seemed to soften a bit, only serving to make your brows snap together. You didn't want his pity. “If you were smart? You'd have a back up, too.”

“I don't need more than one blade. I know how to use the one I have.” Your breath hitched at the double entendre. When your eyes flashed back his way, you couldn't miss the satisfaction. Nothing short of male arrogance hung in the air.

“Cute.” You wrinkled your nose, pushing away the way you'd lit up. Refusing to let him get under your skin. “Let's just chop up some vamps. Get this shit over with.” Kicking off of the vehicle, you moved to go find Dean. To speed things along.

“You really are a blood thirsty little thing, aren't you?” He asked seriously, reaching over to check his blade's sharpness as you whipped back his way.

“I try to reserve it to monsters...and you.” The final jab hit its mark. But, he didn't flinch. Simply straightened to his full height. “Blood is only fun when it comes from the right people.”

“Didn't peg you for the kinky type.” Deadpanned, he waited for a reaction to the lie. Maybe to goad you into leaving. Possibly to amp you up for the fight ahead. Adrenaline was adrenaline, no matter the source.

“Isn't that the best way to be?” Came the not-so-innocent response. “Vanilla just gets stale.” One thing was for certain, you knew how to play that game all too well. The tilt of your head exposed the lines of your neck that he'd mentally traced too many times. A slow, torturous glide of the tip of your tongue across your bottom lip drew him in. “Sammy,” Husky and thick, your voice sent the blood in his head rushing south. He didn't dream of stopping your lazy, swinging gait his way. Slowly, your fingertip raised to graze across the blade in his hand. Tracing it as if it were your lover. Your body shifted subtly. Offering up your chest. He didn't do more than glance, too distrustful of your shift. “There's a lot you're going to figure out about me by tonight.”

“A...A...Anything good?” He returned, fighting to not let your innuendos slow him down.

“Good is the farthest thing from what you're about to see.” The low promise nearly made him groan. “You see, Samuel...” Your finger stroked the blade again, letting the metaphoric action settle between you two. “There's a side of me that you can't even begin to imagine...”

“I...I promise you,” He rasped out, his own voice dropping an octave. Chest rising a little rapidly to be normal. The hazel looked deeper under the light of the late morning. “I've got a great imagination.”

“And I promise you,” You let your eyes lock with his again, “it doesn't come close to the real thing.” Your lips curled up as the warm flesh of your fingers slid down the handle. Just barely brushing against the thick skin of Sam's hand as you pulled away. Nostrils flaring, a shuttering breath left the tall hunter. “You'll see.”

“You guys ready?” Dean's voice made you jerk away. Putting distance between you and Sam. The eldest hunter broke through the woods, weapon still in hand. “Looks like they're all out. We do this right? They don't even wake up.”

“Let's go, then.” Your eyes lifted back to the younger Winchester's. Unable to stop the final look over him. “Thanks for the help, Sam.” With that, you twisted back. Heading the way Dean had come from.

“Help?” The older brother turned to Sam. Demanding an explanation with his raised brows.

“Don't ask.” Chest puffed, the taller hunter strode after you. Mentally preparing himself for the hell that was sure to come from you alone with a set of vamps.

“I should...” Dean glanced over to his car. Ensuring she was secure before turning back. Watching two of the strongest people he knew stride ahead of him. “But, something tells me that I'm better off not knowing.”

It didn't take long to find yourselves at the entrance. Vines crawled against old, crumbled, red brick. Graffiti- some fresh, some old- was scattered across every piece that could have been reached. A heavy metal door covered the front.

Your eyes met Dean's. A nod to the right let you know where you'd be. Sam got the left. Dean was taking the middle. Where you were sure that the leader would be. However, you wouldn't fight the decision. It had been too long. Wrestling with Bane didn't compare to fighting a supernatural creature.

Concern flitted across Sam's face when your eyes met his, again. But, he didn't say a word. Simply pulled open the door as quietly as he could. A nod was sent your way for luck as you walked by. One of your own was returned. And then, you were alone.

If there was ever a moment to thank Sam Winchester, it was that one. Your feet were still light. Well tuned from the stealth the pranks had required over the years as you stalked into the emptiness.

If you hadn't known better, you would have thought it was still night. The boarded up windows were few and far in between. Leaving your eyes to adjust to the shadows. Slowly, everything came into focus.

Your fingers gripped tighter against the handle that rested in your palm as you approached the first room. Using every sense you carried to anticipate what you'd run into. 

A light scrape sounded as you stood just outside of the opening. A darker shadow slid across the ground. Dean had been wrong. They weren't all asleep.

A small drop of sweat slid down your brow as you tried to place where the sounds were coming from. Once you had your best guess, you sucked in a silent breath. Your heart beat thudded in your ears. Too loud for a normal vampire to miss.

Your best bet? A human was in the room. Or a newly turned vamp. You didn't know which you preferred. With a final mental pat, you turned in. Blade ready...

Part Seven

Tag: @burningmusicmachine @missmarrinette @sherlockedtash88 @rathersuspiciousbumblebee @sasbb23 @nothinbuttrouble2

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger

[hailqiqi]

Can You Find a Fallen Star?

Healing broken bonds starts with confronting hard truths.

Ctd. from The Stars Aren’t the Same for You and I

I think I need to shoutout to @mistyhollowpro for helping me out with this, but honestly it’s been sitting at 95% for so long that I’ve totally forgotten if I owe anybody else shoutouts.

Words: 3,905

AO3 link in notes.

“Hi.”

The greeting was given with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk that immediately wiped half the tension from his shoulders.

“Hey, Veronica. Any chance you know what your little brother did to my little sister?”

“I love it how you cut to the chase,” she answered with a laugh, shaking her head ruefully as she opened the door to invite him in. “Why don’t you ask him yourself? I told him to quit moping and be useful, so he’s cleaning out the refrigerator in the kitchenette.”

Matt muttered a quiet thanks as he stepped inside. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Nope,” Veronica replied, shutting the door and gesturing for him to follow her, “and I suspect I don’t want to ask.”  She stopped part-way across the living room and pointed to an open doorway. “He’s in there. Don’t kill him, okay? We only just got him back.”

“I promise I won’t,” Matt answered solemnly, crossing his heart. “Scout’s hono— Hey!”

Veronica grinned as she released his ponytail. “I’m still not used to this.” She laughed. “Anyway. Enjoy, Holt.”

Grumbling, he flapped his arms at her and headed towards the small kitchen. This was not how he had wanted to spend his Sunday, but with Pidge acting like the world had ended what else was he supposed to do?

The kitchens in Garrison family quarters were small — more of a kitchenette, really, as Veronica had called it — with a counter for cooking/prep, an island for eating, and a wall of windows to let the light in (and get rid of smoke). The one in this particular family suite was no different, its only unique feature being the cluttered surfaces where every item in the fridge had seemingly been moved out and shoved aside.

Lance was nowhere to be seen, but from the clattering and muttered curses Matt supposed he was on the floor behind the island. He must not have heard him come in.

Excellent.

Moving quietly, he snuck up to the island and peered over. Yup, there he was — wearing shorts and a wife-beater, on his hands and knees with a bottle of spray in one hand and his head inside the empty refrigerator. The thoroughness with which he approached the task made Matt pause.

Whatever happened must have been bad; back before Kerberos, Veronica had always complained about how lazy her baby brother was when it came to chores. Then again, being a paladin had probably helped him grow up — Pidge was barely recognisable, sometimes.

And on that note…

“Lance!” he barked.

“Argh!”

A loud bang echoed as Lance hit his head on the shelf, dropping the spray when he tried to whip around to face the intruder. Matt bit back a laugh and quickly schooled his expression into one of stern bemusement, raising an eyebrow as he waited for him to turn and face him properly.

Lance’s expression fell the moment he set eyes on him. “Ah, shit. How did you even…?”

“One thing you might not know about me,” Matt said, pushing himself onto the barstool and aiming for ‘casually threatening, in the Kingsman style’. (Pidge had said he’d got ‘all buff and stuff’, so hopefully it was paying off now.) “I used to date your sister.”

“I — Wait — You what?!”

“I did. We parted on good terms, back when I left for the Kerberos mission?” He ignored Lance’s outburst in favour of picking up a bottle of juice from the counter and studying the label. “Pass me a glass, Lance.”

Lance stared at him incredulously, then moved to the cupboard, slapping his cleaning cloth down on the counter as he pulled out a glass. “Why are you telling me this?”

“No real reason.” Matt shrugged, accepting the offered glass with a cordial smile. “We still get on very well. I just think it’s nice to see how well she’s done for herself.” Lance was watching carefully, shoulders squared, and Matt ignored him in favour of pouring his juice. “We have a lot more in common nowadays, too, so we talk a lot. We’re both older siblings to a Paladin of Voltron, for one.”

He sipped his juice, eyeing Lance over the rim of the glass and inwardly laughing at how wide Lance’s eyes had grown as the implication sunk in. Less than a heartbeat later, though, his shoulders slumped and his gaze swung to the window, making him look more defeated than Matt had ever seen him look.

What the fuck had he done?

The juice was sweet, and still cold despite being left out on the counter. Matt took his time savouring it as he watched his quarry, hiding his frown behind the glass.

He had planned to wait him out, but Lance wasn’t offering any answers of his own volition — he stood on the other side of the island, eyes looking everywhere but Matt. He’d always seemed the type to fill the silence with random chatter, but right now he was more taciturn than Shiro.

With a mental sigh, Matt finished up his juice and placed the glass back on the counter. “So.”

“So?” Lance met his eyes briefly.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea why my sister is refusing to get out of bed?”

“I— Pidge is what?”

“She’s been lying face down on her bed for the past few hours, and whenever I try to talk to her all I get is ‘Allura hates me’, ‘none of my friends will ever talk to me again’ and ‘my life is over’,” Matt elaborated, raising an eyebrow as Lance shifted nervously. Honestly, the kid couldn’t look guiltier if he tried. “When I asked her who I needed to punch, she said you.”

“Oh.”

“And as fun as it is watching her channel a pre-teen drama queen, I’m sure you can understand why it’s a little concerning.“

"Fuck.” Lance ran a hand through his hair, then held his arms away from his body. "Go on then.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?”

"Yeah,” Lance said, swallowing. “I definitely deserve it, so…’’

They looked at each other for a moment, then Matt snorted. “I’m not gonna hit you, Lance.”

Lance looked away, then sagged against the counter behind him, his hand back in his hair. "I kissed her, Matt.”

Oh. Not exactly what Matt had been expecting, but close enough that he suspected he already knew the rest. To be fair, he found it somewhat impressive that six teenagers-to-young-adults had managed to survive drama-free on a spaceship for nearly three years. Something like this was more than a little overdue.

Especially with these particular players. Though it wasn’t like knowing Matt had always thought it was inevitable would help Pidge any now.

"Okay,” he said with a tired sigh. "So?”

"What do you mean, ‘so’?! I kissed your sister!”

I’ve done worse with yours, he wanted to say, but instead he bit his tongue and shrugged. "Okay, I get that. But what’s the problem?”

“I’m dating Allura and I kissed Pidge!”

“I doubt Pidge is upset about the ‘kiss’ part of that sentence.”

Lance stared at him incredulously, then let out a bitter laugh and looked away.  Matt reached for the juice bottle again and took his time pouring a glass, watching Lance carefully as he did. The younger man was yet to meet his eyes.

Matt considered his words carefully, then took a sip before saying, “If we’re being honest, I was really surprised when I found out you were dating the Princess. I always thought you and Katie had something going on and were just keeping it secret.”

Lance flinched but said nothing. Matt filed the data point away for future reference and asked, “How did it even happen?”

A slow exhale, then Lance finally turned to face him again. “Allura, or Pidge?”

Matt snorted. “Pidge.”

“We were dancing.”

“You were dancing,” he echoed, one eyebrow raised. “Weren’t you in a dance team before flight school? Did you end up kissing all your partners then, too?”

Lance groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Fuck.”

 —————

 Keeping the frustration out of his voice felt like an impossible task.

"You've missed half of your targets today."

Lance shifted uneasily, not meeting his gaze. Keith narrowed his eyes, then turned to Allura.

"You're moving like a robot." Her movements were normally fluid and graceful, a sight to behold, but today they’d been lacking...everything.

Allura snapped her eyes to his, ferocity in her gaze. "I'm tired after your 'dancing' outing last night."

"We're all tired," he retorted, pushing back an irrational wave of irritation when her jaw tightened. "We were all out late, and we all got at least a little tipsy. That doesn't mean you should be sloppy on the field."

"It's just the training deck, Keith, lighten up."

Keith turned his ire on Hunk at the provocation. "You were just as bad! I've told you before: you've gotta control your strength if you want your hits to count!"

Hunk sighed and flopped to the ground. "Look, I'm just so worried about Pidge because she hasn't come, and she seemed really upset last night and—"

Both Lance and Allura stiffened. Keith blinked, tuning out Hunk's rambling and taking a moment to observe them instead. There was a distance between them that hadn't been there yesterday, and — now that he thought about it — they'd barely spoken or even looked at each other except when necessary.

And now Pidge wasn't answering Hunk's calls and had skipped training.

Cold dread slipped down his spine and settled into his stomach. "Hunk?" he said, cutting him off, his tone carefully calm. "Why was Pidge upset last night?"

"Why—?" Hunk paused at the interruption, but Keith's attention was focused more on the way Allura was gritting her teeth, her eyes firmly on the floor, and Lance had almost shrunk into himself, everything about his posture screaming guilty. "I have no idea, man, just her and Allura asked me to take them home early and she was tearing up the whole way. I tried to ask but she..."

Hunk carried on, talking about their drive back and how Pidge had disappeared the moment they pulled up, but all Keith could think about was the way Lance had looked at her in that dress and how tight her fingers had been on his arm as she all but fled from his gaze.

"Lance."

His voice shook with barely contained fury, and it took all he had to remind himself that Lance would never hurt her. Lance met his gaze warily, and Keith's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he asked, "Lance, what did you do?"

Silence fell over the room. Lance visibly wavered. "I didn't—"

"Allura won't look at you. You won't look at Allura. Pidge has missed training and isn't answering any of our communications." Lance winced with each statement, as though they were a physical blow instead of words. "Lance, what did you do?!"

"Nothing unwelcome," Allura answered for him, a bitter edge in her voice. "Pidge is over-reacting."

Keith frowned. If Allura was telling the truth, then—

"Leave her alone," Lance said, his eyes narrowed. "Pidge didn't do anything. If you're gonna be mad at someone, be mad at me."

Allura raised an eyebrow. "I am angry with you," she said, coolly, "but that doesn't negate the fact that Pidge's reaction is completely inappropriate and out of proportion. The integrity of Voltron is at risk."

"Uh, guys—"

"Okay, fine, but because of my actions, not hers!" Lance ignored Hunk completely, his shoulders squaring up for an argument, and Keith suddenly realised that he had no desire to be a part of whatever was going on.

"Enough!"

The tension from the air vanished immediately as they both jumped and turned to face him.

"I don't care what happened. Allura's right, Voltron's at risk. If Haggar attacked today, we'd all die." He glared at all three of them, daring them to challenge him. When no-one did, he continued, "Fix it. One of you needs to talk to her."

"Lance needs to talk to her," Allura said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I want no part of it."

Lance's eyes flashed. "Don't you think I need to talk to you, first?"

"I will talk to you later. After you talk to Pidge."

It was only the fear of looking too much like Shiro that stopped Keith from pinching his nose as his blue and red paladins scowled at each other, locked in a Mexican stand-off over Hunk's head.

At least Hunk looked as lost as Keith felt.

When neither made to move he gave in to the urge, closing his eyes in exasperation as he massaged his sinuses before speaking. "Fine. Lance: go and talk to Pidge. Today." He glared at Lance, his tone brooking no argument, and Lance shrunk back before giving him a hesitant nod. Satisfied, he turned to the others. "Hunk, Allura, get some rest. Allura, make sure you sort out your issues with Lance by the end of the night. I want everybody ready to work as a team again in the morning."

Allura gave a curt nod, her cheeks pinched, before turning away and leaving without a word. Hunk sighed in visible relief and held his hand out for Lance to pull him up — "I don't know what you did, man, but even I kinda wanna punch you right now" — and Keith swallowed back a groan as he moved to pick up their training equipment.

Hopefully his mom had something to eat ready when he got back to their quarters. Maybe Shiro would even be there and he could try to convince him to swap commands.

A guy could dream.

 —————

 He’d stood in front of the mirror for an hour that afternoon, and he still had no idea what he wanted to say to her.

It was throwing him for a loop, because Pidge should have been easy. They’d been a team back on Earth and grown together as part of a better team up in space. Together they’d fought monsters, blown things up, laughed, cried… He’d held her when she broke down over her first kill; she’d sat up with him modifying the training deck so that he could hone his sniping skills. Somehow, being with Pidge made him feel like all the answers were in reach.

So why was this so difficult?

Allura had been the easy one. Allura, who he’d pined after for years, who made him want to change everything he was so that he could be better just so that she would look at him. She’d held his hand, kissed his lips, told him she was happy he was with her…but after seeing the hurt on her face last night, it was easy for Lance to say that she deserved more than him. He would give her a chance to dump him for his transgressions – as Rachel had put it – and if she didn’t, he was fully prepared to end things. He knew what he wanted to say to her, how he wanted things to go with her.

But Pidge? Pidge, he had no idea.

His phone flashed, and for a moment he didn’t want to check it. In the end, though, hiding in his bedroom wasn’t exactly becoming for a Paladin of Voltron so he grabbed his keycard and headed out.

Hopefully he’d figure it out on the way.

-----

 He did not figure it out on the way.

Pidge had let him in — reluctantly — when he told her Keith had ordered him there, and now they were sitting side by side against her headboard with as much space between them as they could manage on her narrow Garrison-standard bed and he still had no idea what he wanted to say to her.

It probably would have been easier if they weren't in her room, now he thought about it. It had been so long since he'd been in any kind of space that belonged to her that her scent was overwhelming. Coherent thoughts were few and far between when every inhale took him straight back to the night before and sent shocks of electricity through his very soul. Hot breath on his ear, laughter tickling the skin of throat… The glimmer in her eyes and the heat of her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as she'd kissed him back with a fiery passion he’d thought only existed in movies.

Kissing Pidge had felt like drowning, and he’d gladly succumbed to it. But now...

“I doubt Pidge is upset about the ‘kiss’ part of that sentence.”

Matt's words ran through his head for the hundredth time that day, and for the first time Lance let himself consider that there might be some truth to them. Though, if anything, that just made everything more confusing.

"So?" Pidge's harsh voice cut into his reverie and he glanced at her, startled. Her messy hair hid her face as she hunched over in the corner, leaning on both walls, one hand fiddling with a loose thread on her pyjama pants. When he didn't answer, she finally raised her head to look at him. "You came here to talk, right? Talk."

"I..." The words died on his lips and he swallowed, hyper-aware of the scant distance between them and how little effort it would be to lean down and taste her again. Shoving the thought aside, he closed his eyes and exhaled. "I don't know what to say."

Pidge scoffed. "Really? Not even a 'sorry'?"

Lance blinked. "Sorry for what?"

"Are you kidding me?" She whipped around to face him, her voice rising in both pitch and volume, and absurdly all he could think was 'Ah. There she is.' "How about 'sorry for kissing you'?!"

The fire in her eyes and the bare foot brushing his calf were distracting, but the ‘angry girl’ alarm in his brain was dinging and this, at least, Lance was familiar enough with that his mouth began to form words on auto-pilot. This was the part where he was meant to grovel, where he was supposed to say he was drunk and it was a mistake and he'd never do it again and then they could go back to being friends. Lance could start pretending her kiss hadn’t left a permanent brand on his being, and Pidge could go back to pretending to be busy whenever he called her.

He paused, a familiar bitterness curling in his gut.

"So?" she prompted. "Are you going to say sorry?"

Should he? His mind was buzzing with a million different replies, a confused jumble of scenarios all playing out at the same time as he tried to figure out which one would bridge the gap between them. That was all he was sure he wanted, really — for Pidge to stop avoiding him, for them to go back to that easy partnership they’d built so that he could stop feeling so lost.

Pidge tilted her head back against the wall, raising one eyebrow as she waited for him to speak and he shifted, moving to sit cross-legged and face her properly, ignoring the way it made him vulnerable to being shoved off.

A little vulnerability was probably in order here, anyway. Maybe it was what they needed — vulnerability...and honesty.

Pidge was looking at him expectantly.

Lance took a deep breath.

“No.”

"No?"

"No," he repeated, squaring his shoulders before plunging on ahead, deciding to just say whatever felt right and damn the consequences. Honesty, if the coarsest type. "I won't say sorry, Pidge, because I'm not. It wasn’t the first time I wanted to kiss you.”

Pidge inhaled sharply, and Lance felt his own eyes widen at the admission. It was true though, wasn’t it? He’d wanted to kiss her before, he’d felt that urge. Over and over again.

There had been a couple of times when he was cradling her in his arms as they slow danced in the Castle, then a million times when she looked up at him with a grin as they sat together playing games at quiznak-knows-o’clock. Once when they were baking cookies with Hunk and she’d gotten batter on her nose — that image and the pounding of his heart was still crystal clear in his memory. More than once when they’d come in from a stressful mission and she’d squeezed his hand to steady him at the debriefing. And then that time when she’d helped him tackle Coran on a pirate ship and he’d been so relieved that she was okay and still there.

He’d always put it down to hormones, but now...now he wasn’t so sure.

The silence fell heavily between them, tension thick in the air; in lieu of finding something else to say, he simply looked. Pidge was staring at him, expressive eyes blown wide, soft lips slightly parted with a pretty pink blush blooming across her cheeks; her soft hair (he still remembered that detail, even if he hadn’t mussed it in months) was a tousled mess, her pyjama top had slipped down to expose one smooth shoulder, and suddenly Lance couldn’t drag his eyes away.

She was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

He reached out, one hand gently cupping her face, and murmured, “I want to kiss you right now.”

“I—” Pidge leaned into the touch before screwing her eyes shut and pushing his hand away. “Lance, you have a girlfriend.”

“I know.” He rested his hand back on his knee with a shrug. “I won’t after tonight, though.”

Pidge scoffed. “Don’t expect me to take the position.”

“Would you want it?”

She snapped her gaze to his, a pain he couldn’t understand hiding behind her eyes, before looking away. “Whatever, Lance. Look, you’re my friend so—”

Her words made him frown. “Pidge, are we even friends?”

The question came out softer than he’d intended, but it seemed to startle her all the same. “What? I—Of course we’re friends! Why would you—”

“It’s just—” he cut her off— “you never have any time for me anymore.”

“I’m busy!”

“You were busy before, too, but we still hung out!”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Have you ever thought that maybe I’m more busy now?”

“That’s bullshit Pidge, and you know it,” he snapped, gesticulating between them as his hurt gave way to a steadily-rising anger.  “Look, let’s at least agree to be honest with each other, okay? It’s not like we’ve got a friendship to save here because our friendship was in the toilet anyway.”

“It was not!”

“Yeah, it was. When was the last time we hung out together? We used to hang out all the time on the castle! We even did movie nights over the comms on the way here but now every time I ask you it’s ‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ and that’s if I even get a reply from you!”

She glared at him, her jaw set. “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe I just don’t wanna hang out with you?”

“But why?!” Lance asked, not even trying to hide the pain in his voice. “What did I do?! We hung out in the hospital but then you got out and you were helping with the tech stuff and I started dating Allura but I still—”

Pidge shifted her gaze to the side, and suddenly everything clicked into place.

[kenobei]

my heart burns there too

future fic, with married benverly

book spoilers

After the Losers' Club defeated It for the final time, Beverly finally got to start the life she always wanted with a man she loved and who truly loved her. Even though she didn't remember the circumstances they'd met in.

Because when It was gone, so were the Losers' memories of each other. But they'd always find their way back to each other.

Right?

ao3

--

Beverly Hanscom doesn’t remember how she met her husband.

It’s the truth – how weird it may sound. At one point, Ben had just been there. Beverly always felt like she had known Ben forever, and maybe she had, but the first proper memory she had of Ben was their beautiful shotgun wedding. The only things Beverly had as memories from her wedding were the marriage certificate, her husband, the (now dry) pink roses Ben had given her as a wedding bouquet, and a postcard from someone named Mike Hanlon who congratulated them for their nuptials.

(Beverly didn’t know who Mike Hanlon was but Ben was almost sure he was one of his old friends from school.)

Ben wasn’t Beverly’s first husband. She had been married to a dickbag named Tom, but she was pretty sure Tom was dead now. She didn’t know how, she didn’t want to know. As long as Tom wasn’t ever going to abuse her again.

It scared Beverly that she had more memories of Tom than Ben. She often looked at her handsome husband, and tried to think. Where did she meet him? Were they childhood friends? High school sweethearts? Did they perhaps meet in a coffeeshop, or on the subway? Did Ben notice her first, or she him?

Truth be told, it didn’t really matter. As long as Ben was there. He was the best man Beverly had ever known – sweet and kind and intelligent, and she loved him very much. Who cared she didn’t remember how they met? Besides, no one would ever know. Beverly always made up a lie when someone asked – usually that they had met in a library, reaching for the same novel. (By William Denbrough. In Beverly’s story, it was always William Denbrough’s novel.) It was a cute story, and that was enough for most people.

(Ben didn’t remember either. Beverly had never had the courage to ask, but she knew. She noticed whenever someone asked how they’d met how shifty and nervous Ben turned. Maybe Ben believed Beverly’s story. During the years, Beverly had made it believable enough.)

They had been married barely two months, when Beverly noticed she was pregnant. She was so overjoyed she couldn’t wait for Ben to come home so she drove to his office to give him the news. The left immediately to celebrate.

(Beverly had never wanted children with Tom. She would have of course loved her children, whoever fathered them, but she had been terrified of what Tom would do to the child.)

They were having a boy. Beverly remembered Ben clutching the sonogram picture, affectionate look in his eyes. The agreed on everything – the colors of the baby’s room, what kind of stroller they’d get, how they’d raise him… The only thing they couldn’t agree on was the baby’s name – Beverly wanted to name him Stanley, and Ben Edward.

And when Beverly went into labor – they still hadn’t decided on a name. The cab ride to the hospital was pure agony for Beverly – the pain was manageable, but Ben irritated her by bringing up the name topic and even asking the driver which sounded better – Stanley Edward or Edward Stanley.

In the end, they didn’t have to pick just one of the names since Beverly gave birth a surprise set of twins – they name the older one Edward and the younger one Stanley.

(No middle names. They had fought about names enough.)

Beverly thought she couldn’t love anyone more than she loved Ben, but when she had both her sons in her arms, safe, and sleeping peacefully, she knew they were her sun and stars.

Even though the boys were twins, they didn’t look similar, differences appearing more and more as they grew. Stanley took after Beverly – he had her eyes, her nose, her lips. Even the freckles on his nose looked identical to Beverly’s and his hair was the same flaming red (“winter fire”, as Ben said) as his mother’s. But Stanny had the same chubby cheeks that could be seen in Ben’s childhood pictures. He was as caring as his father, and shy.

Edward – he was a firecracker, always running off somewhere. He was so quick Beverly worried he’d run to the street and get hit by a car before Beverly could stop him. Eds was a whole inch shorter than Stanny – a skinny boy with slim shoulders. He looked so much like Ben Beverly knew this boy would be heartbreaker some day.

Although Beverly considered herself brave, fear was constant in her life – fear for her boys especially. Every week, she woke up from a nightmare where her sons were chased by evil clowns, mummies and werewolves. She saw her boys trapped in a room full of blood. She saw Stanny drowning in a bathtub, and someone ripping off Eds’s limbs.

She was terrified, but they were just dreams. Dreams that tortured her almost every night, but her boys were safe – she always checked, she had to see them sleeping peacefully in their beds before she could go back to sleep.

--

When the boys are five, they have to move to Los Angeles because of Ben’s job. They are a wealthy family, Ben being a successful architect and Beverly even more successful fashion designer. Moving suits Beverly more than fine, she’s now closer to potential customers right on the edge of Hollywood. The boys hadn’t gotten attached to their friends yet, so moving is easy for them as well.

They’ve been living in LA for two months when Beverly takes her sons out for ice cream. It’s summer – a hot one, and the park is noisy and packed and as they are walking towards the ice cream booth Beverly realizes she’s forgotten her purse at home.

“Mommy, how could you be so stupid!” Stanley groans, stomping his foot.

“I want ice cream!” Edward screams, jumping up and down.

“I’m sorry, darlings,” Beverly says, running her fingers through Eds’s hair, “We’ll just have to walk back home to get some money.”

“I’ll buy your sons some ice cream,” comes an eerily familiar voice behind them. Beverly and the boys turn in unison, and a wave of familiarity washes over Beverly. The man may not look as familiar as he had sounded. He’s tall and skinny, too skinny, Beverly notes. He has messy dark curls, hair greying slightly at his temples. A few days old stubble resides on his face and his eyes are sparkling slightly. He seems to be the same age as Beverly, but she can’t be sure.

Beverly is dumbfounded, but then the man offers his hand and Beverly has to take it.

“Richie Tozier, at your service,” he says, smiling, but there’s glassy sadness in his eyes.

“B- Beverly Hanscom,” says Beverly, squeezing the man’s fingers. The man turns to look at Eds and Stanny, who are eyeing the adults shyly.

“And who are these gentlemen?” asks Richie, but the boys just turn their heads towards the ground. Beverly sighs.

“Boys… Can you introduce yourselves to Mr. Tozier?” Richie Tozier. The name rings around Beverly’s head, as if it should mean something.

“I’m Edward,” says Eds bravely, showing his brother good example.

“I’m Stanley,” mumbles Stanley.

“Hello, Edward and Stanley Hanscom,” Richie says, “What kind of ice cream do you like?”

At that, the boys start to scream out their favorite flavors. Beverly looks at them fondly – they’re all flailing limbs and excited eyes.

Richie comes to sit next to Beverly on a bench as the boys run off with their ice cream.

“How old are they?” asks Richie after a moment of silence. Though they are strangers, Beverly doesn’t find Richie’s company uncomfortable. It’s like he’s some old friend she’s met up with after years and years of silence.

“Five,” Beverly says. Eds is currently freaking out because Stanny took a lick of his ice cream. Beverly smiles at them.

“Both?”

“They’re twins.”

“They don’t look like twins,” Richie points out. They don’t, with their different hair colors and Eds being smaller than Stanny.

“They were surprise twins. My husband and I didn’t know we were having two of them until I gave birth to them.”

“Really?” Richie laughs. “That happens?”

“Happened to me.”

“Are you planning on having more?”

Beverly plays with the hem of her skirt. Her gaze trails up to the boys, who are feeding their ice cream cones to ducks. “No,” Beverly says, “These two boys are a blessing enough, and a lot of work. Besides, I’m already forty-five.”

“Really? Me too,” says Richie.

“Do you have children?”

“No.”

“Are you married?”

Richie caresses his empty ring finger. His eyes are somewhere far away. “No,” he chokes on the word. Beverly wonders what’s his story, but it isn’t her place to ask.

There’s something she’d like to clear out, though. So she asks,

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

Richie chuckles. “Well, I’m a radio DJ,” he says.

“Okay,” Beverly breathes. That explains why his voice was so familiar.

But that’s not it, is it? a voice in the back of Beverly’s head suggests. Everything about him is distantly familiar to you. Not just his voice – everything.

Beverly brushes off the thoughts. She glances at her wristwatch. Ben will be home from work in twenty minutes.

“We need to go,” Beverly sighs. He turns to smile warmly at Richie, and Richie smiles back. “Thank you so much for the ice cream.”

“No problem,” says Richie.

--

The encounter with Richie Tozier starts to haunt Beverly. She starts to listen to his radio shows, becoming almost obsessed, mentally kicking herself if she misses one. She thinks Richie may be the funniest person she knows. No matter how bad her day is he always manages make her laugh – even the kids love him, and Ben constantly teases Beverly about her supposed “crush” on Richie.

“It’s not a crush,” Beverly insists one evening, “More of a... pull towards him. I can’t stop listening to him, or thinking about how he is or what’s he doing?”

“Sounds like a crush to me,” Ben says, raising his eyebrow.

“No, Ben. Listening to him just makes me feel secure.”

“I know, Bev, dear. Me too.”

That night Beverly has another nightmare. She’s chasing Edward – he’s running, running, running, and Beverly has never seen her son run that fast, and she’s scared she’ll lost him. That Eds runs straight into some danger.

“Eds! Edward!” Beverly, as her son gets farther and father away from, until he disappears, and Beverly is left alone in the dark.

“Eds,” she sobs. She cannot lose her son, she cannot.

And then, she sees light. Certain hope fills her chest, the feeling that if she follows the light, she’ll find her son, she’ll find Edward, and so she follows the light until all the black surrounding turns white.

She still doesn’t see Edward anywhere.

“Eds?” she whispers hopefully. He’s hiding, Beverly decides. Edward is just hiding, and he’ll appear soon. She hasn’t lost him.

“Bev?” a gentle voice calls Beverly, and slowly she turns around to see a figure of a man surrounded by light.

“Who are you? Where is my son?” Beverly asks, tears streaming down her face.

Slowly, the man steps closer and just then Beverly notices the small boy he’s holding.

Eds. Edward, her son.

“Calm down, Bevvie. Edward fell asleep,” the man says. He has a pleasant voice that automatically soothes Beverly. Little Eds is holding onto the man’s neck, breathing softly. The man smiles at the boy, then turns to look at Beverly. He must me around forty, but he’s very small, one of the smallest grown men Beverly has seen. The man’s brown hair looks incredibly soft, and his eyes are very gentle and tired.

Any mother would be nervous seeing a strange man holding her son, but Beverly isn’t. She trusts this man, as if he were her friend. She doesn’t know him, but feels a pull toward him, like she does to Richie Tozier.

The man hands Eds to Beverly, who feels at peace now that she’s holding her son, now that she’s in the company of this man.

“Thank you, Eddie,” Beverly whispers and tears escape her eyes again.

She wakes up with a gasp, the man’s face fading from her mind, his name disappearing from her lips.

--

One afternoon, Beverly is running errands alone with Stanny, who is a momma’s boy, always following Beverly around whereas Eds adores Ben. Ben has taken Edward to the doctor’s, they suspect the boy has asthma since he has started to have troubles with breathing, especially if he has run around a lot. Beverly worries for her son. She vaguely remembers she used to have friend with asthma when she was a kid, and was constantly worried for his health.

Beverly enters a grocery store, Stanny hanging off her arm. She glances at her wristwatch, glad to notice that she still has hours to go before Richie comes over for a visit. At one point, Beverly had just snapped and she had had to get in contact with the man. Richie had been more than happy to befriend Beverly – over months he had grown close with Ben too, and often babysat their children.

“Mommy, can I get ice cream?” Stanny whines, not letting go of Beverly’s arm as she picks up a shopping basket.

“No, honey, not today,” Beverly answers absentmindedly.

“But Mom! Eds said Daddy promised to buy him some!”

“Yes, honey, but Eds had to go to the doctor’s.”

“I want to go to the doctor’s, then,” Stanley whines and pouts.

Beverly has to laugh. “Sweetheart, but there’s nothing wrong with you!”

“Is there something wrong with Eds?”

“I don’t know, Stanny,” Beverly mutters, as he tries to search for the cereal brand Ben has recently grown so fond of.

When she finally finds the right package, she realizes that Stanley has become quiet.

(Too quiet.)

“Stanley?” Beverly calls, glancing around frantically. She sees no one, and her heart starts to hammer. This is how her nightmares start.

“Stanley? Stanny!” Beverly shouts, growing more anxious with every second. She walks over to end of the aisle, forgetting her basket on the floor. She glances left and right, but doesn’t see her son’s red head.

But then, she hears Stanley shriek, “Mommy!” and quickly, Beverly turns around on her heels, crouching down to catch her son in her arms.

“You scared me, Stanley…” Beverly whispers against her son’s curls. She lifts her tearful gaze, and sees a woman eyeing them curiously.

Beverly swallows her tears. “Did you… Did you help my son?” she asks the woman, and the woman nods. “I-“ Beverly sniffles. Searching for Stanny in the grocery store was almost worse than chasing Eds in the dream – because this was real. “He just ran away from me before I could do anything.” She runs her fingers one more time through Stanny’s hair, then stands up. Stanley clings to her leg.

“Don’t worry.” The woman smiles sadly. She’s so pretty, and so sad. “Kids tend to do that.”

Stanny whimpers, and holds on to Beverly even more fiercely as Beverly tries to approach the woman.

“Do you have children?” she asks. The corners of the woman’s mouth twitch downward.

“No,” she says hoarsely, “My husband and I never got any.” She plays with her wedding ring, shoulders tense.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Beverly says. She couldn’t imagine life without Eds and Stanny. “Have you tried adopting?” she says after a pause, feeling a bit awkward for suggesting that to a stranger.

“He’s dead,” the woman says quietly, “My husband is dead.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Beverly says. After a moment of hesitation, she offers her hand, “I’m Beverly Hanscom.”

“Patricia Uris,” the woman says. She glances at Stanley, who’s now looking shyly at her behind Beverly’s legs. “My husband’s name was also Stanley. He died five years ago. After that – I had to move. I just couldn’t live in Atlanta, not anymore, not without him.”

Beverly feels genuinely bad for this woman. “Would you like to grab coffee with me?” she has to ask. Does she have any friends? Does she have anyone to talk to?

Has she been all alone, for fives years, as Beverly has thrived and raised two beautiful sons in a happy marriage?

Timidly, Patricia Uris nods.

--

Patricia Uris is a lonely person.

Beverly learns that straight away when she befriends her, but she’s so much more than just a lonely woman who has lost her husband in a tragic way.

(He had killed himself, slashed his wrists in a bathtub and just imagining that makes Beverly’s stomach churn.)

Beverly and Patricia start a book club. Patricia refuses to read anything William Denbrough has written.

“Stanley used to be obsessed with him,” she says as she runs her fingers across the spines of the Denbrough books on Beverly and Ben’s shelf. They own them all.

Patricia also becomes an assistant of sorts to Beverly. She finds out Patty has an amazing fashion sense, and a mind full of beautiful ideas. So she hires her, and Patty becomes a constant figure in the Hanscom household.

Patricia Uris a lonely person, but there’s someone even lonelier than her.

When Richie Tozier appears on their doorstep at midnight, so drunk that he’s swaying, eyes glazed, Beverly can’t help but feel sad for him.

She’s suspected it a long time – that Richie Tozier isn’t exactly happy, hasn’t been for a long time. There’s a certain dullness always present in his eyes. Sure, he may seem cheerful, never shutting up, constantly telling jokes, but Beverly knows he’s just covering up something.

Something inside him is broken, and it breaks Beverly as well.

“Richie…” Beverly sighs, “The kids are asleep.”

(The kids adore Richie.)

“Bevvie!” Richie slurs, spreading his arms, “Bevvie, do you have time for your best friend Richie?”

Beverly always has time for Richie. So she sighs, and lets him in, watching as Richie stumbles over the threshold, almost falling but maintaining his balance in the last second.

“If you wake the kids up, I’ll kill you,” Beverly whispers, “Eds was in such a sugar rush, it was an impossibility to get him to calm down, and if Eds isn’t sleeping, neither is Stanley.”

“I love your kids,” Richie mumbles and falls down on the couch. It makes such a loud sound that Beverly has to turn around to see if Ben or the boys have come to seen what’s happing.

“Bev, I don’t feel so well,” Richie groans. He has his arm draped over his eyes, and he sounds miserable.

“Stay there, Rich,” Beverly says and tiptoes over to the boys’ room to pick up blanket. She’s relieved to find both of them fast asleep. Beverly leans over Eds and carefully removes the boy’s thumb from his mouth, before kissing him gently on the forehead.

When she returns to the living room, she finds Richie asleep as well, accompanied by Ben.

“When did he show up?” Ben asks. He’s frowning down at Richie, face full of worry.

“Five minutes ago,” Beverly says.

“He was calling me ‘haystack’. Why would he do that?”

“What do you mean? What did he say?”

“He said, ‘You got the girl in the end, Haystack.’ Then he passed out,” Ben explains.

“Maybe he was referencing something,” Beverly suggests. She goes to cover Richie with the blanket, then walks over to Ben, and gives him a kiss. Ben looks at Beverly, with so much love in his eyes it’s making Beverly’s knees weak. He twirls a strand of Beverly’s red hair, still not touched by grey, between his thumb and forefinger.

“Let’s go to bed, sweetheart,” Ben says, “You have a fashion show to attend tomorrow, remember?”

Beverly hums, and leans on Ben, feeling his steady heartbeat against her chest. “Do you think Richie will still be hungover in the evening?”

“Bev, honey, it’s better we get someone else to watch the kids this time.”

--

Beverly is sitting on grass, on a summer day, wind playing with her scarlet curls. Her knees are scraped, and she realizes she’s a young girl again, thirteen, and life has just started to fuck her over.

This is a dream, she realizes, and she’s not alone.

A boy is sitting opposite her, and there’s a book in his lap. His reciting names of birds, which almost turn into poetry in Beverly’s head.

She looks at the boy in awe, takes in his curly hair and delicate face.

“Stanley?” she whispers, and the boy stops naming the birds, lifts his head-

And suddenly, he isn’t a boy anymore and Beverly isn’t a girl, she’s a woman, a wife, a mother, again, and Stanley- she’s seen this man before, in a photograph Patty carries around with her.

Beverly looks down at his arms, and feels sick to her stomach at the sight of two barely healed t-shaped scars on his inner arms.

“Thank you, Beverly,” says Stan, his voice almost inaudible.

Beverly, wakes up, gasping for air. She quickly glances at Ben sleeping next to her, and gets out of bed, running to the bathroom to throw up.

She cries, leaning against the tub, her legs numb, until her back starts to hurt and she has to stand up.

First, she checks her sons’ room, calming down a bit when she sees they are both safe.

What was she dreaming about, again? Was it Stanny?

She stares at Stanny, who’s clutching a cuddly toy in his tiny hands, but nothing comes to her mind. So she closes the door and makes her way to the kitchen to get a glass of water, but before she gets there, she hears Richie mumbling something in the living room.

“Richie?” Beverly whispers, slowly approaching the couch. Richie has trashed around in his sleep, and the blanket has ended up on the floor. Richie’s lips are moving, but only incoherent mumbling is coming out of his mouth.

As Beverly leans down to pick up the blanket and set it over Richie again, she suddenly feels Richie grab her wrist.

“Ouch! Richie?”

Richie’s eyes are only slightly open, as he looks in Beverly’s direction. “Eddie?” Richie whispers.

“Edward’s asleep,” Beverly says, finally covering Richie with the blanket, and moving the dark curls away from his face with her fingers.

“No,” Richie says, and his eyes are closed again, “No, no, no,” he whines, moving restlessly. “Eddie!” he chokes on the word, and Beverly knows he doesn’t mean her Edward.

“Shh, Richie,” Beverly soothes him, still caressing his hair.

“Eddie,” Richie whines and starts to sob in his sleep. He does it for a while, crying desperately while whining “Eddie” and “no”. It takes minutes for him to calm down, Beverly knows this because she had stared at the clock on the wall instead of the tears streaming slowly down Richie’s face. And when Richie has finally been quiet for fifteen minutes, Beverly leaves.

Ben is awake when she returns.

“Is Richie okay?” He sounds genuinely concerned. Of course he is, Richie is his friend as much as Beverly’s.

“I don’t think he’s been okay for a long time,” Beverly admits.

Suddenly Ben looks very old and sad. He sighs, deeply, then speaks, “Bev… Do you think we knew Richie at one point in our lives? Because that’s the only thing that could explain this weird bond we have with him?”

Beverly wants to answer him. She really wants to open her mouth, and say, You know, Ben, darling, you’re absolutely right. I think we knew Richie, and I think at least I knew Patty’s husband, and maybe that Eddie Richie keeps mentioning, too. I think there’s something wrong with us, but there’s nothing we can do about it.

She doesn’t say those things. She falls asleep.

--

Beverly is dropping by the drugstore to get Edward’s new asthma medication, when she spots William Denbrough, hand in hand with his wife.

She drops her purse, and gasps “Bill!” then immediately covers her mouth as if she’d just let a bad word slip out in front of her children.

“Can we help you?” asks William Denbrough, no, Bill Denbrough.

“Aren’t you Beverly Rogan?” asks Audra, Bill’s beautiful wife. Her eyes are starting to glimmer with excitement, but Bill looks confused.

(Haunted.)

“It’s- It’s actually Beverly Hanscom now,” Beverly stutters out.

“Right,” says Audra, “I love your work. Your dresses are beautiful,” she gushes. “I love your latest collection – especially the green ones.”

The green ones had all been Patricia’s, but Audra didn’t have to know that. “Thank you,” Beverly says, but she’s looking at Bill, who looks like he wants to run.

“Listen, Beverly, could you make something just for me? Something unique?” Audra starts to dig out something from her purse, and soon thrusts a business card into Beverly’s hand. Beverly looks at the phone number in the card.

“Sure. I can make you something,” Beverly says. She suddenly feels dizzy.

Audra lets out a happy sound and claps her hands. Beverly realizes she has to get Eds’s medicine now, before she faints. She pushes past Bill, and he turns to say something to her.

“Beverly, I-“

“I need to get my son’s asthma medication,” says Beverly.

“I used to have a friend with asthma,” Beverly hears Bill say to Audra as they are leaving.

“And you remembered just now?” answers Audra.

At home, Beverly runs to the bookshelf. She starts to pick out William Denbrough’s books, one by one, opening them at random pages. And she sees it all – girls with red hair, boys with asthma, boys who love birds, evil clowns.

She closes the book she’s holding and throws it across the room, then she takes every book and rips the pages off, throws them around until the floor is covered with them. She’s glad the children are with Patty and not home, as she cries hysterically, kneeled on top of the ruined books.

That’s where Ben finds her. He takes a good look at his mess of a wife, and sighs.

“I called Mike Hanlon yesterday,” Ben states.

“Mike Hanlon?” Beverly says, lips wobbling. “Your old friend from school?”

Ben kneels in front of her, and takes her hands. “Bev, I- He sent me something, I received the fax this morning. A list.”

“A list of what?”

“Names.”

“What names?”

Ben pulls the list from his pocket. “Mike, he… He doesn’t remember either. But he has notes. He doesn’t remember writing them, but he has them… Full of weird stuff.”

“Clowns,” Beverly sobs.

“And there are these names that keep popping up in his notes… Six names, and just last week he found another notebook with phone numbers…”

“What are you saying, Ben?” Beverly says, wiping the tears off her face with the sleeve of her sweater.

“Ben Hanscom and Beverly Marsh. Richie Tozier. Someone called Eddie Kaspbrak, whoever he is. And Stanley Uris. Could he be Patty’s husband? And Bill-“

“Denbrough,” Beverly finished for him, and the both glance down at the ruined books. “I saw him at the drugstore today.”

“And decided you weren’t a fan after all?” Ben says, lifting up a page from the floor.

“Ben,” Beverly says, “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, Bev,” Ben sighs. “I think I understand a little too well. I think the seven of us used to mean something. I think it’s time to bring the old gang back together.”

--

It’s the easiest to start from Richie. One afternoon, Beverly invites him over, and after the kids have gushed over him for a while, it’s time to get into serious business.

“Richie…” Beverly starts, and the words almost die in her throat. But she has to. She has to force them out.

“Richie, do you happen to know someone named Eddie Kaspbrak?”

As soon as the name leaves from Beverly’s lips, Richie’s face turns dark.

“Fuck you!” he spits, and Beverly is truly shocked.

“Richie!” she glances back where the kids are, hoping they didn’t hear him.

“How could you do that? How do you know about Eddie? Have you been going through my stuff?”

“Richie, calm down!” Beverly tries to crab Richie’s arms, but he shakes her off. “I have not disrespected your privacy, just listen to me! This is something that involves me, and you, and Ben, and Eddie.”

Richie is crying. This is the second time Beverly has seen him cry. He remembers the night when Richie was having that nightmare, screaming Eddie’s name, and Beverly come into realization that Eddie was something to Richie, something like Ben is to her.

Or at least he wanted it to be that way. He never got Beverly’s happy ending.

“He’s dead!” Richie sobs, “He’s dead and we left him down there!” Beverly has no idea what he means, but she gathers Richie into her arms.

“I know,” she whispers against Richie’s hair. “I know, honey.”

“He’s dead… Eddie’s dead, and Stanley… St- St- Stanley is dead too.”

“I know, honey. I know.”

--

After Richie, there’s Bill.

Ben has already contacted Mike Hanlon, who’s flying across the States just to see four other people he technically doesn’t even know.

(But without Mike Hanlon, this wouldn’t be happening at all.)

Beverly stares at Audra Phillips’s business card, the phone number written in it in cursive. The only way to contact Bill is through Audra. Beverly sighs. Audra isn’t going to like this.

It’s a miracle it’s Bill who answers. “I thought I was calling Audra,” Beverly blurts out.

“It’s me,” says Bill, and Beverly smiles.

“Would you mind joining me, Ben, Richie and Mike tomorrow?”

“Who are Ben, Richie and Mike?” Bill isn’t playing with her. He genuinely doesn’t know.

“You’ll find out,” Beverly says, glancing over to see Eds and Stanny playing with Richie in the living room.

After a pause, Beverly hears Bill’s voice, “Alright. What’s your address?”

“What did Big Bill say?” Richie asks when Beverly has hung up.

“He’ll come.”

--

Bill is the last to arrive.

He comes to the Hanscoms’ house rain soaked, and stops to stand in the hall, staring at Beverly, and Ben, and Mike and Richie, eyes wide.

He’s clutching a small book in his hand.

“What do you got there, Billy?” Richie is the first to speak.

“I’ve had this thing for ages, never got rid off it. I don’t know how it ended up to me.” Bill hands the book over to Beverly, and all five turn to look at it.

It’s a book about birds. Mike takes the book from Beverly’s shaking hands, and opens it.

Stanley Uris, it says, in thirteen-year-old Stan’s handwriting.

“Oh,” says Ben.

Richie wipes away a stray tear, and looks at Bill with a smile. “Welcome back to the Losers’ Club, Big Bill. What a loser you turned out to be!”

“Beep beep, Richie,” they all say in unison.

[flowersintheimpala99]

Starved

(nobody really asked for this but take it anyway, the red boy needs a little more stuff about him. also, I have to say this was high-key inspired by @asklakewooddarrell and I’m so in love with their idea??? check them out pls it’s way better than this indulgent junk.)

He was the unseen creation, the one who never could do enough to get noticed by his father, and the one who seemed to fail the most. Even when his other brothers and sisters lost, it wasn't quite as big a deal because they at least had a couple victories under their bolts. He had no victories, absolutely zero. He consistently lost to heroes that were below his level, sometimes he even managed to lose to a little brat that wasn't even level one yet! It led to him being melted down more times than he could count, vicious, biting words stuck on repeat in his CPU no matter how many times he tried wiping his system clean.

He hated it, hated the way his youngest brother got so much praise while he was constantly left in the shadows. Even his younger sister was given more opportunities to shine than he was, even if she nearly always messed it up. The one time he was in the spotlight, it was for such a brief moment that it did more harm than good. Now he knew what it felt like to have someone openly show love towards him, and all it did was make every day he didn't get any even worse. He was so much more than a simple AI, he was one of the most complex robots in circulation! Just giving him a good restart once in a while wasn't enough, he needed so much more than that!

He was starved. Starved of attention, of affection, of love... Starved of anything positive, and absolutely drowning in everything negative. Breathing wasn't something a robot needed to do to survive. It was something a robot shouldn't need to do to survive. Yet he still felt like his mechanical lungs couldn't expand fully, couldn't function properly with the massive weight pressing down on his metal chest. Why did Lord Boxman design him with such complicated emotions if he wasn't going to express them in return? Why would anyone, villain or not, create something which could feel and desire love, only to show it disgust and hate instead?

... Why would anyone waste their time building him, to begin with? These thoughts became the norm, and he slowly began withdrawing from his siblings. The older ones didn't notice anything, mostly because they hardly saw his model anyway. The younger ones had to have noticed something was off, but they either chose to ignore it or didn't care enough to bring it up. He wasn't sure which one hurt him worse. Recharging overnight became difficult. He found himself wandering the Boxmore halls late at night, his CPU running slowly as he burned through power stores that were meant for emergencies only. Lord Boxman only became more irritable when he'd find him in the morning, slumped against a wall, powered off after his battery finally died.

It was nice when his battery died. He felt nothing, desired nothing, and simply floated in an endless sea of darkness. There were no pointless competitions with the younger siblings for the love he'd never receive, no fighting battles he was always destined to lose, and no angry glares as Lord Boxman went about repairing him. Of course, this state never lasted long enough. He was always charged back up, his head pounding as he slowly came to with the first dregs of power back in his system. The first few times it happened, Lord Boxman yelled at him for being so stupid. As it became more commonplace, however, to find him with a dead battery, the villain just rolled his eyes and called an Ernesto to move him out of the way.

He saw Lord Boxman less and less, what were once brief periods of powerlessness slowly growing into hours, sometimes even days. The last time it happened, he'd been down for a whole week before anyone bothered to plug him in. He came to like always, CPU barely trudging along as it struggled to work. He was still starving, his processors crying out for much-needed love and attention, though he no longer paid it any mind. He was resigned to this lonely fate, one where he would never feel the gentle warmth of love again. So he left.

He'd imagined doing it before, but back then he'd been so much more naive. He was so sure that if he ever tried to leave, Lord Boxman would come rushing toward him at the last possible second. The mighty villain would have angry tears in his eyes, and he'd yell at him for being foolish enough to believe that he didn't love him. The others would overhear the argument and would gasp, eyes wide in shock because how could their favorite brother think this? How could they have let him slip so far away that he began to think this? They'd all cry and hug him, promise to never let him go again. Never take him for granted, no matter what he did.

That didn't happen. He walked out the front door of Boxmore and never looked back, mechanical heart racing for a few moments as he waited for someone to call his name. He made it across the highway, though, and over to Lakewood Turbo Plaza before he realized that nobody would notice he was gone. Or maybe someone had noticed, but just didn't care enough to try and stop him? He looked down at the concrete, feeling frustrated, disappointed tears welling up in his eye. This was it. He couldn't go back now, couldn't handle being faced with the ultimate truth that Boxmore Industries would move on just fine without him. He had to move on, in turn.

Where would he even begin, though? Could he ever begin? His synthetic heart slowed down, now thumping along hollowly in his chest as he looked up at Gar's Bodega. The circuits in his heart seized up a moment, causing the odd, squeezing sensation he'd grown so used to. The heroes inside never seemed to be unhappy like he was... Even the littlest one, the one who failed the most and was the weakest... Even he managed to smile and cheer from the sidelines for his friends whenever he was defeated in battle.

"Um, Enid? Did you hear one of Boxman's boxes fall?", KO asked, squinting his eyes at the dejected robot who stood in front of the store. He pressed his face closer against the glass, feeling a twinge of fear and worry bubble up in his chest. None of the recent attacks on Lakewood Plaza had involved Darrell for nearly a month now, so the small boy had been convinced that something big and dangerous was coming. Maybe another level 100 Darrell, or something even more powerful than that! Yet...

"Darrell's crying!", he whispered, eyes wide when he saw the shiny tracks on the robot's face. His question from earlier may have failed to grab anyone's attention, but that had the entire workforce crowding against the window.

"Dude... He totally is crying!", Rad exclaimed, an awed look on his face. Up until now, he hadn't realized that robots could do something like that. It just seemed too... Organic of an action, he supposed. Even Enid seemed surprised, her normal snark gone as she watched the robot turn away from the store. By the time she had something to say, KO had dashed outside to help.

"Darrell! Wait for a second, what's wrong?", he asked, reaching out to latch onto the robot. Yeah, the same robot had kicked his butt before, but... He was crying! How could he not help someone who was crying their eyes, er, eye out? However, the second his hand came into contact with the sun warmed metal of Darrel's arm, the robot in question froze. Enid and Rad had hurried outside the moment KO touched the robot, their most powerful attacks readied in case something was afoul.

Instead of seeing their little friend get hurt, they were shocked to the core when they saw Darrell pull KO into what had to have been the most desperate of hugs. No longer did tears stream down his face silently, his shaking shoulders the only indicator of his emotional state. No, now he was openly sobbing, his entire frame shuddering from the force of his cries. Enid flinched at the sound, her normally icy heart melting slightly at the sight before her. It was genuinely heartbreaking, to see a robot crying so much over a simple touch. It was almost like...

"He's attention starved...", Rad said, his voice surprisingly soft when he spoke. Enid jerked her head towards him, an eyebrow raised slightly in question. Sure she'd been thinking the same thing, but the fact that Rad actually knew what that was and how to recognize it was... Not what she'd expected, to say the least. "Uh, you know? Like... When you go a long time without really interacting with people, and then like...", he began explaining, trailing off to gesture at the two in front of them. KO was somehow calm throughout the situation, simply patting Darrell on the back as he hugged the distraught robot back.  

Enid made a mental note to grill Rad on how he knew what was happening later, too many questions floating through her worried mind at the implications that had. For now, though, she decided to focus on the issue at hand. She approached the two slowly, kneeling down until she was able to pull them both into a hug. Rad caught on quickly and followed along, completing a rather odd looking group hug as he wrapped his arms around all three of them. Darrell's circuits were overloading, his CPU barely able to process it all. He was being given attention, live saving, necessary attention, by his sworn enemies.

It didn't make sense. This all had to be some sort of dream, something his CPU created in a desperate attempt to cope with the reality that he wasn't needed by his father, by his own family. Yet the people, the heroes he'd wanted to destroy from day one... They were here when nobody else would be. They were gently leading him inside the bodega, sitting him down in the break room and bustling about to find compatible parts to fix him up with. It seemed that the alien one, Rad, had rather impressive knowledge of mechanics, and was muttering under his breath over how someone could leave him in disrepair.

The tears had stopped at some point, giving way to watery hiccups and a more than wobbly smile that barely managed to stay on his face. KO was still latched onto his side, refusing to let go of his new robot friend. Of course, Darrell had always harbored a slight affection for the little guy. Even though he'd always been secretly jealous of the love he got so easily, it was pretty hard to not like someone who was so determined to help others. He started when he felt probing fingers press along the back of his neck, no doubt in search of his power button, but he couldn't help the tension that settled into his shoulders.

"Relax as best as you can, dude. I need to put you in sleep mode for a bit so I can fix you up. Shouldn't take longer than a half hour or so, so like... It'll be alright, okay?", Rad explained, his finger hovering over the small, red OFF button. He was waiting... Was he asking permission? Darrell nodded slowly, feeling his CPU slowing down when he felt gentle pressure against his neck. "You're alright now dude, promise.", Rad said the last thing the robot heard before he was shut down.

It really felt like he'd only been off for a second or two before he was turned back on, his CPU now running faster than it had in weeks. His eye popped open, a sound of surprise passing his lips when he saw KO asleep in a chair next to him. He was laid out on a table, probably the one where the bodega ba- ... Probably one where Rad, KO, and Enid had snacks and stuff while on break. He sat up slowly, eye scanning the room to find that Rad and Enid were collapsed on the couch together, snoring softly as they napped. Mr. Gar was in the middle of putting a light blanket over them, and when he seemed happy enough turned around to leave. Of course, he caught Darrell staring at him and realized that oh no, he'd been seen being soft!

The two stared at each other in silence, a wordless agreement coming about. Darrell would let that Dad Moment slide by with no teasing or fuss, while Mr. Gar wouldn't question why his arch nemesis' robot was currently sitting on the snack table. They nodded once, then Mr. Gar hurried off to his office so he could convince himself that he was still a tough guy who certainly didn't think of his workers as the children he'd always wanted and never had. Darrell went back to thinking his situation over, his eye landing on KO once more.

The littlest hero had a frown on his face, and before he could overthink it, Darrell reached down to lightly pat the kid's head. The motion seemed to do the trick, as KO relaxed in his sleep and smiled, the sight making the robot's mechanical heart flutter just a little. Was... Was this what it felt like to be a real big brother, he wondered. He felt all warm inside; the new parts and updates that Rad had installed while he was asleep making everything feel just a little clearer. For the first time in a long time, he felt the Hope.exe file opening up.

Maybe, just maybe... Things would get better. Maybe not immediately, no, too much had been done to fix it all in a few days. Over time then, perhaps. Maybe after a few months or a few years... Surely though, with them by his side, (and he was sure they'd stay by his side, they'd bothered to use spare parts to fix him up, he didn't doubt that they'd let him just leave now) he'd be able to slowly repair himself. Not alone, of course, but with their help. With their attention, their affection... He wouldn't starve anymore, that was for sure. He ruffled KO's hair gently, moving so that he was curled up in a chair next to the littlest hero. Sure, he'd just been asleep but...

He could nap a little longer, he decided. Anything to help pass the time until they all woke up again. Darrell had a sneaking suspicion that this was only the start of something, something that could be great. If anything, he needed to stick around long enough to work off the price of the parts they'd given him. That much he knew for sure, his stubborn pride refusing to let them just give him a handout. And... If it meant he'd work around the bodega for a while, get to see them every day... Well, that was only an added bonus. Nothing more.

[galacyan-imagine]

Worries [ENG]

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader Summary: You are one of those people addicted to adrenaline, you don’t experience pain in a normal way, which brings some dangers. You aren’t afraid to take risks or put yourself in harm's way. This worries Pietro more than it should but for what reason? Genre: Fluff / Love-Hate relationship. Warnings: Angst and dangerous behaviour, but don’t worry folks, I'm a happy ending girl… at least today. Word count: 2956 N/A: So I wrote this to @quicksilverslover on the last Brazilian Valentine's Day (12/06), and it took a while but I'm posting the English version. Thanks again for the request Nikki. Finally, Georgia (@greeneyedgirls4), thank you so much for being my beta.

They say that fear and pain are two of the main feelings responsible for the survival instinct of human beings. But when your genes cause you to experiment both in a different way, probably some of your instinct will amplify or restrict. This dynamic undergoes inevitable changes when you have a faster healing factor than a normal human being, a relationship not so aversive to pain, and a sense of equilibrium close to a feline. With these characteristics, it seemed natural for Y/N to look for experiences that would challenge her. An exhaust valve, and at the same time a way to recharge her adrenaline. Thus the practice of some more challenging sports seemed the ideal option. Parkour was her gateway, the introduction to adrenaline. Truly dangerous experience in fact, but when completed provide an enormous satisfaction. That was the beginning, its evolution, nevertheless sought ecstasy, the choice of BASE Jump didn't seem unexpected as it allowed the heady, intoxicating and unforgettable sensation supplied by the combination of adrenaline, endorphin and dopamine. Perhaps, at that moment in her life, the only thing that came as a surprise to her was the fact that she had been recruited for these abilities. In addition to raising her thirst for intense emotions to another level, being in the midst of the Avengers was an out to test her to the fullest. But of course these trials were not always beneficial, and she did not resent bruises. That was the easy part, the complications were on people's minds. In her case: the Maximoff twins, who took it seriously whenever they had a chance. — If you want to continue this insane attempt to kill yourself, be my guess, but next time try not to do that in the middle of a mission. — That was the last of the constant implications of the blond speedster. A great way to thank her for covering their back. Not that she cared about the injury from a badly calculated free fall. It wasn't very serious, at least not for her. Y/N’s body would take a maximum of three days to get back to full functions. She would heal as if nothing had happened. Of course, that didn't stop Pietro from being annoyed, he showed his scowl as he watched Clint, who in Bruce's absence took care of the injuries and immobilised a fracture. Y/N even understood the fact that Wanda was around, they got along very well after all but Y/N kept wondering what the hell Pietro was doing there. Her momentary justification was a bad taste for unspoken discussions, as for during the whole procedure, the two had been facing each other both wearing an unfriendly expression. — Try not to force that leg, at least until tomorrow, okay? — Barton warned as he adjusted her orthopaedic boot: — you can even heal easily, but that doesn't leave you free of regenerating your bones wrong. — Don't let her get tempted by a brand new free fracture. — Pietro murmured, gaining an icy look in reply. — I'm going to behave, Clint. — Assured the young woman, smiling as sweetly as she could for the older man, then questioning. — Am I dismissed, sir? From Barton's expression he didn't fully believe the first part, but as he had learned for some time, Y/N’s persistence eventually triumphed over everyone. — Of course, and Wanda, please, try to keep her away from the outer top of the tower, please. The witch smiled, nodding at Clint, in the meantime her brother was rolling his eyes for the eleventh time that afternoon. Y/N got up leaving the room, yet for her most unpleasant surprise, merely managed to get to the door. She had barely taken three steps when the Sokovian was already on her side. She turned ready to counter any injury he might throw, but instead, Pietro decided for an opposing approach. Without even tell anything, or giving a signal of what he would do, the silver haired man wrapped an arm behind her knees, giving Y/N the momentary sensation that she would fall, but soon being supported by the other arm of the speedster around her waist. The unexpected movement caused her to snort. And though that mild cold in her stomach was a kind of micro sensation of the emotion she sought in her jumps, she compelled herself to label it negatively. — Put me down! — She demanded stiffly. Pietro lifted his chin, not even staring at her, but amused himself internally by the situation. The effect of the supposed rage considerably softened by the fact that she was holding onto his shoulders to avoid a fall. — No. A single word in a tone of petulance. Typical. — Pietro, what the hell do you think you're doing? He sighed, this time deciding to look at the girl, which only served to irritate her: — Keeping your foot away from the ground. — Oh, really, don't tell me!? — she countered wryly. Wanda and Clint watching the scene and tried their best not to laugh. — It doesn't take many neurones to understand that you need to rest as much as possible. — Despite his blunt tone, his eyes were serious, but of course, Y/N was too furious to notice that. — I was on my way to do that ... — she snorted, fidgeting. — In the footsteps of a crippled turtle. Y/N opened her mouth, red faced with such anger. Hawkeye, fearing for another long round of epic argument resolved to intervene. After all, the last one had taken a good part of the night. And as much as he loved betting on the girl for those, there were still more things to do. — As much as I don't like to agree with him, — he said, couldn't resist teasing the blonde just a little, — Pietro isn't wrong. It would be good for you resting for today. Y/N shoot him with her eyes. Traitor! Clint shouldn't be in favour of Maximoff in any discussions, after all, even with their background, she well knew that the boy still irritated him with his jokes and pranks. The convinced smile on Maximoff's face only made him more irritating. Y/N clenched his fists around the boy's arm trying to induce some effect, but he promptly ignored it. — See? Even the old man knows when I right. Barton ignored the part that concerned him, shook his head, and left the resentment. Wanda, trying to comfort the girl, said: — Relax, Y/N! Enjoy while Piet is willing to play a slave or horse and transport you wherever you want. — Huff! — The sound came out in unison from both of them, which only served to make everything even funnier. But for the merit of the speedster, he was pleased just for winning this battle. But of course, Y/N would never admit defeat. Stubborn? Probably, but obviously wouldn't be the only one.

-x-

She hated being sick, well maybe sick is a very strong word, but you can understand the idea of forced rest. In other circumstances, she wouldn't complain about having a personal assistant to help her with everything she needed, but professionals didn't judge or make inconvenient comments, and that was definitely not what was happening. The whole problem began with the fact that most of the team members had plans for that night. Rogers had finally given into Nat's advice and called Sharon for a date, Stark had disappeared somewhere in the world with Pepper, Banner had been gone a few days, and Barton decided to go home. Even Wanda, who said she would not leave had disappeared to God knows where with Vision. So she only had one 'volunteer' for the job. Of course, the situation could always get worse: the reason for the massive evasion was the date in question, Valentine's Day. She had made plans herself, not with anyone specific, but she always found a way to attend some Valentine's Day Singles Party. She still considered going but was immediately barred by Barton. — But it’s already "tomorrow"! — She tried to argue, reminding him of what he'd said the day before. Vainly, he just stared at her with disdain, replaced the velcro of the orthopaedic boot and added: — Who plays the doctor here? Y/N, pedantic as possible rebutted: - Bruce. That even made Clint laugh, but nothing worked for her cause. — Nice try! Now you... — Barton pointed at the blond who was inconveniently there, — take care of her. And simple as it seemed, Pietro had no choice but to do what he was asked. Well, at least that was he kept repeating to himself. No way he wanted to be alone with her, mostly if you just take the timing into account. No way! This was just a matter of letting his friends and sister enjoy their dates, whether casual or not, without any obligation. A burden he could fulfil because he was not interested in relationships at this current time. Obviously, this did not please Y/N at all. The idea of being alone with Pietro, even on missions, left the hair of her nape stand up. Her instincts were screaming that it wasn't safe, much less a good idea, and she associated it with the fact that he was a professional prankster. That's why she was nervous, just for that, right? Forcing herself to answer this question made her swallow hard. Better to change direction. Thinking too much always made her anxious, even claustrophobic. The speedster hadn't given a sign of life for the last hour. Since she had thrown him out of her room to concentrate on a book. But now she was starting to get bored. She could feel her body tingle from the abstinence of movement. Taking a deep breath, she sat down on the bed, sharpening her ears in an attempt to get some clue about Pietro's whereabouts. Nothing. Okay, maybe she could take the time the man had given her to get some fresh air. The terrace of the building was always a good option. And, she didn't need a bodyguard to get there. It took a little longer than usual because she wanted to walk slowly so as not to arouse suspicion. The delay was at least rewarded with the view. The edge of the building automatically caught her attention, making her walk up to the parapet and sit on it. Her legs casually on the outside, hanging in the air. The feeling was good for a few seconds, and then it seemed to her as if they had shown her with a box of sweets, and gave her only a small piece. A clear side effect of having increased your doses of adrenaline. It was driven by the release of this hormone, she admitted. The curiosity to know if she could already walk the wide edge of the parapet was almost instantaneous, and even if it wasn't a good decision she got up. The foot, in her opinion still unnecessarily immobilised, was making this a little difficult, but nothing that would stop her from trying.

-x-

Inertia: for a speedster, this is probably one of the biggest impossibilities. Soon it was not long before Pietro became annoyed. Y/N had locked himself in the room, and he had already wandered through the house. Oddly, he'd discovered that his sister had disappeared. Seeing the intimacy between her and the sintopoid he decided not to look for them. So Pietro ended up in the Y/N room but was banned from there as well. This definitely hampered his hobby of provoking her teammate. Pietro grinned, mentally replaying how 'sensible' she was when she was nervous. Her face turned slightly red making the tone of the girl's eyes intensified, looking even more vivid. And of course, when she was fed up with her pinpricks, she would step off hard, clenched fists and tight arms. And as hard as he tried not to notice, the hips swelled sharply. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the mental image. Maybe he should take a walk, being locked up was not giving him much coherence. Pietro left for the outside area just to relax, not looking to observe anything specifically. But the day wasn't so bad, he thought, watching the sky, and then almost had a heart attack; Y/N was balanced on one leg at the top of the building, her hair hanging in the breeze. As he watched, she opened her arms, letting the wind through, and he was sure she would crash on the floor. In less than five seconds he reached her, dragging her off the edge and stopping in the centre of the terrace. — What the hell, Y/N!? Did you lose your mind? — He was breathing heavily, not from exhaustion, but from a deep feeling that had seized his being. — Does your ability to regenerate nullify any value you give your life? Y/N felt confused. In a second it seemed almost like she was flying. The wind around her enveloped and gave a wonderful feeling. In the other, a glow of speed and then nothing but Pietro was upset. It was not like in the fights for pranks, besides the anger, she could distinguish a deep hurt that she did not understand. This made her feel a little distressed. — Pietro ... — Y/N tried to pull away, the grief making her angry too. She didn't like these strange feelings, even in her jump she tried to keep as much control as she could. — Shit! I was just ... — You're an addict! An addict with no regard for the people around you! — He interrupted in an angry accusation. — So what if I like adrenaline? That's what brought me to the group in the first place, — she raged, then put her finger on his chest. — Of all people here you should understand that the most! Are you going to tell me that you don't enjoy your super-speed? Whenever you can, you boast of it, you boast of the sensation, the energy of what you feel as you run around. And don't come to me with this consideration discourse after Sokovia! Okay. She was not intending to touch that last point, but for some reason, she had no filter to hold it back. — That was different ... — he countered furiously as she turned her focus to him. — Different my ass! if you even considered that you would be hurt, almost turning yourself into a sieve, you accepted to take the risks in same way! Wait, did she resent it? — But... — But nothing! It was the same thing, I did the same in the last mission. And every time I get hurt you got pissed off, like it that was not a risk from the work, as if it wasn't a risk that each of us accepts from the moment we decided to join the team. — The words came out in a spurt, she had not planned them, but they were all there. Pietro turned red, the colour was very strange in the features always marked by light tones. The crimson was a great contrast to the platinum hair but made the blues of his eyes even denser. He took a deep breath, the irritation turning momentarily to himself. Y/N absorbed all those details, it felt strange, almost like something was throbbing. — I ... I get pissed because I don't want you to get hurt! — Pietro almost snarled the phrase, which became even more peculiar in his accent. — As if you had a fight with everyone on the team who got hurt, right? Damn it! Pietro didn't want to admit that even to himself, however obvious, but if he had already begun to go down to hell, so then let him dance with the Devil: — I care about you more, okay? He would not say more than that, he was not ready for that. — You ... care... you what? Pietro ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. Was it that hard to understand? The blonde bit one lip, taking less than a second to decide the next move... he approached her, more slowly than he ever did. Pietro took her face in his hands and then gently brushed his lips against hers. Y/N's eyes widened at first, she could feel his breath, and then the unexpected, soft contact. She closed her eyes, feeling his approach, her body reacting with a hormonal discharge, shivers. It was almost like one of her jumps. She returned the kiss; Avid, voracious, thirsty. It was a free fall. When they finally parted, he smiled, a sagacious smile completely natural to him. — Is that clear enough to you? She rolled her eyes but smiled. She bit her lip, feeling surprisingly peaceful, but her pulse thudded in her ears. A feeling very much like what she was looking for in calculated danger, but her feet were firmly on the ground. — Maybe ... I'm not sure yet. She came up to him and put her arms around his shoulders. Y/N wanted to try it again, and Pietro had no objection to it. Her subconscious has registered a likely new source of dopamine. She didn't know if he could completely obliterate her adrenaline addiction, but at the moment the advantages seemed promising. And at the end of the night, it turned out that the singles Avengers enjoyed their Valentine's Day very well.

_____ Request are Open: Marvel, H5-0, DC (Lucifer, Arrow, Flash, Legends of Tomorrow or Constantine), Elementary, Sherlock, Q (007), TGW, Assassin’s Creed, etc. I can try to write about any character/celebrities as long as you give me a lot of information about it and have a little patience ('cause I'm a non-native English speaker so it may take a while before your request is posted). P.S. I don’t accept requests with: Lemon/Dark Lemon, self-destructive, Self-harm, Suicide and Abuse content. Sorry guys, but I'm not always psychologically prepared to write things like that. And when I write I generously obey my limits, so no request in that area. | Smut and NSFW prompts/request are welcome 😈😎  | More Pietro Maximoff (MCU) Imagines | My other imagines. |

[bubblish-bambam-blog]

You Were Saying?

|Prompt: Park Jimin is your older brother and you fall in love with his best friend, Kim Taehyung.|

||Pairing: Kim Taehyung X Reader||

||Genre: Fluff||

||Summary: As soon as Jimin turned 15 he made a pact with a 13 year old Y/N. The Pact was that neither of you could fall for each other’s friends when you reached high school. Y/N had fulfilled her part of the promise, that was until Kim Taehyung wandered into your life, sophomore year.||

| Word Count: 2.1k|

-

14 year old Jimin and 12 year old Y/N were sitting on the couch. Y/N had a book in her hand and Jimin was staring at the TV, waiting to get a kill on his video game. 

He stopped focusing on the screen and looked over at his younger sister, with a raised eyebrow. 

Y/N looked up from her book and up at her thoughtful brother’s face. “Why are you staring at me like that weirdo?” She asked; clearly irritated. 

“I just thought of something.”  He said and blankly looked at the cover of her book.

 You look away from him; thinking of going into the kitchen to search for food.

 "Aren't you gonna ask me?" Jimin practically begs.

"Yeah... No." You say bluntly and look back at the words in your book; clearly more interested in the book than your stupid brother. 

"Oh come on, just ask me what I was thinking about!" Jimin whined; his voice cracking. 

You got up; ready to stomp off to your room where he wouldn't bother you. He grabbed your wrist and forced you to sit back on the couch. 

"Come on just hear me out then I'll leave you alone." Jimin begged.

You scoffed. "Fine, though I'm sure you're not going to leave me alone."

"Okay, so I'm turning 15 in 5 months and by then I'm going to be in high school. I don't want you to keep following me around like a lost puppy." He said his bravado clearly outshining his common sense.

You laughed loudly. "Me? Lost puppy? Excuse me? Who do you think you are? Who the hell would follow a lanky loser like you? Certainly not me. You're the only one that cares that your turning 15."

His confident face faded and was replaced by embarrassment. His chubby cheeks were now a tinted pink.

Jimin crossed his arms. "Sure, laugh, I don't care. What I was saying was that as the second I turn 15 I'm going to make a pact with you." He said.

"Okay. I bet you're going to be the first to break it." You said with a laugh; got up from the couch and walked off to your room, book in your hand.

~5 Months later~

It was midnight and you were sleeping soundly on your soft warm bed. Yet, little did you remember it was Jimin's day. His birthday.

Jimin ran to your room, bursting in. He ran over to your bed and tore the blankets off your body. Your eyelids ripped open as soon as the cold air nipped your warm skin.

"What the fuck?!!?" You hissed; covering your mouth surely after. You hadn't cussed, but you gained the habit from your classmates.

"Did you forget?" Your older brother asked with a smirk on his lips.

You looked at him with disbelief. "Forget what you moron?" You were aggravated that he had woken you from your warm slumber

"The second I turned 15..." He whispered as he waited for you to finish his sentence.

You shrugged; having no idea what the hell this doofus was talking about.

"Come on! Don't you remember?" He whined; his voice cracking.

You groaned and laid on your mattress, not bothering to cover yourself with your blankets.

"It's the pact! Remember the pact I was going to make with you?!?" He whisper shouted in your ear.

You grabbed your pillow and tried using it to drown out your brother's cracking voice.

He then used his finger to jab you in the ribs and kept repeating, "Pact." over and over again.

You had enough of this moron so you tore your pillow off your tired face and threw it at his face, but that didn't shut him up.

"Fine! Just shut up!" You screamed. He covered your mouth with his hands

You say something, but Jimin can't make out your words. He doesn't uncover your mouth and you lick his hand and he exclaims in disgust.

You laugh and lie on your mattress out like a starfish.

"You're disgusting." He groans and wipes his hand on his black sweatpants. 

“Why are you even talking?” You taunted. 

He rolled his eyes until you were sure they could’ve gotten stuck in the back of his skull.

“Ahem. Since, I’m going into high school next year, I’m going to be very popular and I’m going to have so many cool friends. So, I don’t want you ruining that.” He said, his bravado shining brightly in the dark room.

“So...” He continued “I need you to promise you won’t fall for any of my friends.” He said seriously. 

You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “Your friends wouldn’t even have a chance with someone like me. Suck it.” 

“I really need you to take this seriously. So, for my part of this pact I promise I won’t fall for any of your friends either.” He ran his hand through his black hair. 

“Like my friends would for you. Why would they want to see your face? It’s bad enough that I have to see it.” You mocked. 

“Really Y/N? Can’t you take this seriously?” He asked; the beginnings of anger showing. 

You sighed “Can we just hurry this up? I’m tired and you’re talking about things that can’t actually happen.” 

“Okay, so do you promise you won’t fall for my friends?” He asked. 

“Uh-huh. I promise.” You muttered; missing sleep. “Do you promise you won’t fall for any of my friends?” You asked and held out your pinky. 

He shook his head. “Men don't pinky swear. We spit.” He said and held his hand close to his mouth. 

You cringed. “I just licked your hand and you're going to spit on it? You’re the disgusting one here.” 

“Just do it.” He said and spit in his hand. You hesitated, but decided to just get this over with and also spit in your hand, cringing harder than ever before.

Jimin held his hand out and you got worried his spit would land on your mattress so you slapped your hand with his. Your hands made a squelch noise and you shivered. 

He let go of your hand and you wiped your hand on his shirt, while he wiped his hand on his sweatpants once again.

He started getting up to go to his room, “You won't be popular!” you called out loud enough for him to hear you.

-Present Day-

Jimin was one of the most popular guys in school. He changed completely and you couldn’t believe it.

He had dyed his hair blonde and you always told him how much you hated it. You always said he looked basic. He would always laugh and say he didn’t care what you had to say. 

All the girls were chasing after him and drooling whenever anyone caught a glimpse. 

He was a big shot and all you were known for was being “Jimin’s little sister.”

You despised him for it. You never had a chance to prove yourself to anyone because he had taken all the chances you could have. 

He was on the swim team, dance team, cross county, and almost every sport in the school. 

He was also, student body president, he was named Homecoming king 3 years straight. He was also the principal’s favorite and everyone knew it. 

You were on the volleyball team and captain too. You were on the tennis team, and water polo. 

You were a part of humanitarian club, drama, debate, and student government, but who got all the damn glory? 

Your stupid brother. That’s who. 

He was always being trailed by his posse and his groupies. When people found out you were his sister everyone bugged you. You hated this. 

Girls you wouldn’t even know would walk up to you and ask you if you could set them up with the moron you were related to. 

You would just walk away. You didn’t want to associate with people you didn't know. It just wasn't you. 

You heard footsteps and snapped out of your daze. You look up and you see his blond hair. 

You roll your eyes and start standing up when he smirks. 

“Ah! Little sister! I haven’t seen you in the longest time!” He pipes

“Don't you live with her?” A skimpy girl hanging on to one of his friend’s arm asked. 

Jimin looked over at her with disbelief written all over his face. 

You laughed and walked off, saying “You really have nothing on me if your friends are that stupid!” 

Your best friends Adrian and Chiaki were walking beside you, along with every other unimportant person behind you. 

Chiaki is your female best friend you knew her for years, but she moved to Japan when you were both 6 years old and you didn’t see her again until your freshman orientation. She’s 5′4, Japanese, blue eyes, black long hair, freckles, she’s pale, 15 and your other half

Adrian is your male best friend. You met him in 7th grade, but you didn't become close until freshman year. He’s 5′7, Latin, dyed orange hair, green eyes, has two little moles under his eye, 16 and your world. 

You started walking backwards into the hallway; away from the cafeteria. You didn’t care if you bumped into anyone, but you hoped you wouldn’t. 

“I don't understand this asshole at all. His dumbass tells me, ‘I don't want you following me around like a lost puppy’ , but he’s the one following me around!” You throw your hands up in defeat. 

“He’s just following you around because he knows you hate it when he’s around.” Adrian said and smirked. “You’re so transparent, Y/N.” 

You glare at your friend. “I am not.” 

“I’m sure everyone knows you despise your older brother. We’re not the only ones.” Chiaki said. 

You sighed; still walking backwards “I know that Chi. But have you seen that moron? He thinks he’s the king just because he’s “popular”. If only people knew how he really was. they wouldn’t fly around his head like vultures.” 

You ran your hand through your hair and kept walking as your friend’s eyes went wide you rose an eyebrow not knowing what they were looking at and kept walking like nothing was going to interrupt you. 

That is until your back hit something sturdy. You cursed under your breath and turned around swiftly to look at your victim. 

It was a back. Well, the back of a human being. It seemed that they were walking backwards as well. 

The human being turned around and then you questioned whether it was a human being. 

He was much taller than you and he was lean yet fit, but not too fit. His chocolate brown eyes shone with the help of the sunlight that was pouring through the hallway window. He had a small mole on his eyelid on his right eye. The sunlight made a halo that surrounded his sliver dyed hair. His salmon tinted lips made it seem as if he had lipstick on full lips. His sliver hair created a curtain over his face and it made you breathless. 

He wasn’t a human being. He was an angel. 

He looked at you and put a boxy smile on his face. “Woah, sorry. I didn't see you there, Beautiful.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure you say that to all the ladies.” 

“No, I say it to all the men.” He said with a wink and walked off. 

You just stood there with a shocked face. 

Adrian blinked 30 times in those few seconds and looked at your shocked face. 

“What the fuck. He was hot as fuck!” Adrian exclaimed.

- Bubbles 

Thanks for reading! This is just a one-shot for now! Unless, I change my mind and make it a full-blown fanfic. Though with my lazy ass I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Though the idea wasn’t my idea entirely I added some things and I wanted to give a shout-out to my friend Ivairy. Well, there will probably be 1 or 2 more parts to this, so yeah! Thanks again for reading!